LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

i]^r^..':iijp^ri3|ift[ 

Shelf..7l 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




3 1884 




^^.^nytA.^ *^^y^<f~tAL<L<l^i 



'.^o.I£y, 




The Pagan's Poems 



3 



BY W. H. Johnston. 




I DEC 26 188^ 



PEORIA, ILL.: 

J. W. FRANKS & SONS, PRINTERS AND BINDERS. 
1884. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S84, 

By W. H. JOHNSTON, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



TO THE PUBLIC. 



Most of the poets inform you that their productions are 
the results of hours of ease — the fruits of idle moments. 
Mine are not. Whatever claim they may have to the title of 
poems, they certainly represent days and nights of the most 
difficult and exhaustive mental labor — labor that might have 
been more advantageously used for my own selfish advance- 
ment. In these productions, notwithstanding my pronounced 
views, I have studiously avoided all social, religious, and 
political prejudice, and have endeavored to clothe my lines 
with a purity and truth that would commend them to the 
conservative and refined intellect of all classes. 

While I do not claim for my poems " a beauty that is not 
of earth," I think them worthy of the attention you may choose 
to bestow upon them, and asking only a fair and honorable 
consideration of their merits, I submit them to your criticism, 
whatever it may be. 



Respectfully yours. 

The PAGAif. 



Bishop, Illinois, 

May 25, 1884. 



INDEX. 



Gautama, 9 

Elegies, 77 

Susannah B, Colwell, 79 

Wendell Phillips, 81 

Etha Mcjieynolds, 83 

Ben. H. Hill, 85 

Louis G. Wiemer, 86 

Jacob Koch, Sr., 87 

Mary A. Koch, -88 

Epitaph on Thomas Paine, 89 

El Hermosa Capitan. , 90 

Defense of Ingersoll 93 

Miscellaneous, . . . . . . . . . 133 

A Fragment, 135 

- The Poet's Dream, 136 

To Emma Etter 138 

The Pagan's Prayer, 140 

Voltaire's Soliloquy, 142 

A Drinking Song, 144 

Address to the Sword, 147 

Epitaph for Guiteau, 149 

Lines, 150 



Index. 

Ode to " Old Baldy," . 152 

Esthetic Oscar, 153 

The Sherman Society, ■ 155 

Commend Me, . ' . . . . . . . 156 

Progress and Poverty, . . . . . . 158 

Lines to my Cousin, Miss F. J. K 160 

Keenan's Charge, . . , . . . . . 161 

Autograph, 163 

Incognito, 164 

"Bob. Ingersoll," 166 

Plea for the Yest, 167 

A Pome on Spring, 169 

C. B. Farwell's Address to the Bolters, . . ITI 

A Parody . 174 

A Sonnet, 175 

^Divided — A Parody, 176 

"Bascom," 178 

Death of Cameron, 180 

Jim. Bledso's Pard, ....'.".. 183 

Leora and Jacob, 185 

To Lily 187 

To a Crucified Hawk, 188 

To a Young Lady, . . . . . . . 189 

Leila, 190 

A Banana Peel, 191 

Brown-Eyed Jean, . . . . . . . 192 

Meyer and Underwood, 193 

To Miss Minnie McC, 194 

To Miss Lulu a. Kepford 195 

To My Little Hostess, 197 



Index. 7 

Stella, , 198 

To Miss Eliese E , 2,00 

Juanita and Jairus, 202 

Ode to the Beautiful, ...... 210 

A Travesty, 213 

■ My Eirst Love — The Eesult, 214 

Clemanthe, 216 

Jackson's Address, 218 

IN'apoIeon Bonaparte, 219 

Eeply to "Old Citizen," 224 

Sonnets, 225 

To Lovely L , 151 

To A Divine, . 154 

To 22s 

To The Public, 227 

What? 227 

To E. E., 228 

To Shakespeare, 228 

To Lovely L , 229 

To Ishmael, 229 

To " Miss Jealousy," . 230 

To Burns, 230 

To Lovely L , 281 

To An Organist, . . 231 

A Query, 232 

To A Dude, . . , 232 

To . 233 

A Mistake, . . 238 

To Judge B., 234 

Lulu Kemblb, 235 



(§)autaina: 



INSCELBED TO MY FEIEND AND PATEO^ST 

JOHN H. UPPENDAHL 

WHO PRESCRIBED TO THE OFFICES OP A FRIEND AT A MOST 

NECESSARY TIME 

BY THE PAGAN" 



GAUTAMA. 



The Life, Character, and Teachings of Sayka Mouni the founder of 
Buddhism. 



PART FIRST. 

I 
Man is a worshipper. He kneels 

Before the throne of Hope. 
Over his heart an awe e'er steals, 

And e'er before him ope 
Portals of Grrief and gates of Bliss, 

Hades and Paradise; 
But from a world of doubt like this 

The humbler truths arise. 
II 
There have been men who ruled the world 

With the sceptre of Might; 
There have been men who have unfurled 

To M'orlds the flag of Right. 
I speak of one whose mighty mind 

Imparted, truthfully, 
Purest of precepts to mankind, 

And taught — Hummiity. 
Ill 
Born was Grautama, wisest, best, 

'Neath Indra's regal sheen. 
Of Maya — whom the Devas blessed — 

King Suddhodana's queen. 
While all the world was wrapped in love. 

In passion and in war; 
Long ere there glinted from above 

The Gallilean's star, 



12 The Pagan's Poems. 

IV 

Long ere tlie Caesar's pride and boast 

Its thousand knigMs had slain, 
Long ere Mahomet's swarthy host 

Was scattered o'er the plain, 
Long ere red Charlemange's beagle 

Found the proud Islam's tomb, 
Ere the shadow of the eagle 

Fell on the roofs of Rome, 

V 

Buddha was born, traditions say, 

To teach all men the law 
Of Life and Death, so that they may 

Unto Nirvana draw. 
Whether they speak the truth or not, 

No answer yields my pen; 
This much is true., Gautama taught 

Compassion unto men. 

VI 

He taught Equality as well, 

Virtue and Liberty; 
He strove to drown the fear of hell, 

And make man's conscience free. 
" Death is no other stage of Birth," 

Grautama taught, and then 
The grandest precept known on earth, 

Compassion unto men. 

VII 

Even in childhood he was grand. 

Of quiet, noble mood; 
With slate and writing stick in hand 

By Vishwamitra stood. 
And as the fount of knowledge streamed 

Into his youthful mind. 
Surrounding pomp and splendor seemed 

Naught, and were left behind. 



Gautama. 13 

VIII 

When with his royal mates in chase, 

If winning, he would see 
Keen disappointment on a face, 

He'd let them reach the tree. 
Or, if he joined the hunter's band 

In chase thro' woods unpathed. 
His steed'd weary, he'd pause and 

Let the deer pass unscathed. 

IX 

As Prince Gautama grew in years 

Compassion did increase; 
Yet he knew naught of sorrow's tears, 

Thus far his life was peace. 
But in a smiling garden by. 

He walked in solemn mood. 
And by the sadness of his eye 

Spake him the honored Buddh. 

X 

Once, as he strolled among the flowers. 

Plucking the fair and sweet, 
A swan dropped thro' the locust bowers 

Stunned — bleeding at his feet. 
He saw the crimson stain the white, 

The arrow in its breast. 
He seized the bird, soothed its sad fright. 

Withdrew the pointed pest. 

XI 

Devadetta — his cousin fair. 

And next heir to the throne — 
Seeing the wild swan cleave the air. 

With lithe bow brought it down. 
And coming in the garden then 

Said: "Coz, give me my prize! 
I brought it down, that's law with men." 

Tears filled Grautama's eyes. 



14 The Pagan's Poems. 

XII 

"Say no, dear coz, the bird is mine, 

The first of myriad things 
That shall be mine by right divine, 

Borne on compassion's wings. 
For now I dream that I shall teach 

Compassion unto men, 
And e'en the deaf shall hear me preach, 

And learn life's secret then. 

XIII 

" If it were dead it might be right 
To give you this poor thing; 
You have but killed the god-like flight 
That throbbed in this white wing. 
Brahm gives compassion's laws to men^ 

Compassion's law so says: 
' If life is aught, the savior, then. 
Is more than he who slays.' 

XIV 

" Know ye_, the slayer wastes and spoils, 

The cherisher sustains — " 
'"Tis well!" quoth his coz^ "cease thy toils^ 
Take the bird for thy pains!" 
Gautama turning to the swan. 

Whispered consoling words. 

Thro' life, thus far, he'd gazed upon 

No grief but this one bird's. 

XV 

But on another day the King 

Said, "Come! my son, we'll go 
And see the pleasures of the spring 

Among the high and low. 
See how the fruitful earth doth bring 

The golden grain, the vine, 
And how the peasants laugh and sing 

Within this realm of mine; 



Gautama. 15 

XVI 

" This realm of mine, which shall be thine. 

When the pyre flames for me; 
When this pale, weary brow of rhine 

Shall from the crown be free." 
So they went forth among the lands 

Teeming with fruits aiid blooms. 
Where workers toiled with swarthy hands, 

Where nestled Sudra's homes. 

XVII 

The ploughman turned the rich brown loam, 

The gard'ner plied his spade; 
With happy songs birdnesters roam 

Amid the jungle's shade. 
The ox leaned in the heavy yoke. 

The peasant's brow was swart. 
The blacksmith's anvil loudly spoke, 

The merchant, traffic court. 

XVIII 

'Mong mango sprays the sun-bird flashed. 

Beneath, the squirrel raced. 
Out of the jungle musk-deer dashed, 

The kite his fair mate chased. 
Around the painted temple flew 

The peacock and his loves. 
And from the cool wells came the coo^ 

Of myriad purple doves. 

XIX 

In shady groves browsed coy gazelles. 

And from a village seat, 
Came the soft peal of marriage bells 

And trip of merry feet. 
All seemed so blithe, so free and gay, 

As tho' no heart was sad; 
So sweet the scene before him lay, 

Grautama^ too, was glad. 



16 • The Pagan's Poems. 

XX 

But looking deep lie saw the thorn 

Upon the tree of Life, 
How the Sudra, from the early morn, 

Toils for his child and wife. 
How damp his brow, with labor's dew. 

How weak his swarthy arm. 
As he wiled the weary hours thro', 

Life, seeming, lost its charm. 

XXI 

He saw the bulbul chased by shrike. 

And he, in turn, by hawk; 
The pert alcedo seized the pike 

Under the hanging rock; 
But as he skimmed along the lake, 

The eagle stole his prize. 
Fierce raged the war within the brake. 

Fierce in the sea and skies. 

XXII 

The oxen's necks galled in the yoke. 

They strained with tired step; 
The grain and rice by foul weeds chokC; 

The wheat with tares are reap. 
The leopard slew the harmless deer. 

Then felt the lion's power. 
Life seemed a desert bleak and drear^ 

Death, monarch of the hour. 

XXIII 

" Is this the realm that I shall rule? " 

Gautama sadly said, 
*' Lead home again, my heart is full. 
And heavy feels my head." 
So the king turned and led him home, 

A sadder, wiser boy. 
Compassion's bud broke forth in bloom. 
Shading earth's empty joy. 



GUATAMA. 17 

XXIV 

Then thro' the garden oft he strolled 

In meditation's sleep. 
Oft down his cheek a tear-drop rolled, 

Mated with sighings deep. 
The watchful father noted all ; 

Calling his wise men in, 
He said: "What ails my son withal, 

That he doth grow so thin ? 

XXV 

'^ What balm will his distemper cure, 

And fire his saddened eye? 
Unless some new thing we procure. 

The prince will sick and die." 
Said one; '' 0, king. Love cures all pains, 

Brings solace to mankind; 
The tho'ts ye cannot stay with chains 

A maiden's curls will bind, 

XXVI 

"What knows this boy of women yet. 

With lips like lotus flowers, 
Eyes that make kings, yea, gods, forget 

The rapid flight of hours. 
Let but a maiden kiss that cheek, 

'Twill make the blood run rife. 
Even the slaves, the rhyots, speak 

The bliss of mated life," 
xxvii 
•" 'Tis well ! " said Suddhodana, " call 

The fairest of the realm. 
Say all shall join in festival, 

Love shall my boy o'erwhelm. 
Lest we might fail to find a face 

To feast his fixed sad eye, 
Let all compete in sports and grace, 

And he shall give the prize. 



18 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXVIII 

'^ Thus he will meet the face of all, 

And feel Love's blessed lance; 
Let Khanna stand near in the hall, 

And watch his countenance. 
And when, if touched, to make report^ 

And bring the same to me. 
Go, now, and pre-arrange the sport. 

Let all dance merrily." 

XXIX 

Then came the Sakya maids unveiled. 
From north, east, south, and west,. 

And " Jai! Jai! Prince," they hailed, 
"Behold! we come thy guest," 

They came in silks, in gems arrayed, 
With new stamped tilka mark. 

Fine robes and shawls were lightly laid 
Over their shoulders dark. 

XXX 

And as the King wished it should be, 

The fairest led the plays, 
And ne'er was known such revelry 

In Suddhodana's days. 
The maidens danced to festive lutes 

And chimes of tiny bells. 
The Sudras scattered rice and fruits, 

And flowers from the dells. 

XXXI 

And when 'twas time to give the prize. 

They formed a stately band. 
Marched by the Prince with downcast eyes,. 

Receiving from his hand 
Such prize as he chose to bestow 

To all those skilled in grace 
Or sports, or those who daily go 

Thro' life with handsome face. 



Ga utama. 19 

XXXII 

All passed tlie Prince except one maid, 

Yet he remained unmoved — 
No smile upon his sad cheek played, 

No flush to show he loved 
One deeper than the rest that passed, 

Khanna was filled with fear 
Lest she'd pass too, Ila — though last — . 

Proved first his heart to cheer. 

XXXIII 

Just as she stopped before the boy. 

Hands folded on her breast, 
Glancing, with eyes divine and coy. 

Spoke in low tone — half jest — 
" Fair Prince, is there no prize for me. 

Or are the gifts all gone? " 
The Prince, brought back from reverie. 

Gazed like a startled fawn, — 

XXXIV 

He saw a form of lovely mold, 

A face of beauty rare. 
Neck encircled with chain of gold 

And bathed in raven hair. 
Eyes that gleamed like dews at morn, 

Cheeks like a fresh blown rose, 
Lovlier creature ne'er was born, 

Sweeiter, no flower grows. 

XXXV 

" The gifts are all," the Prince replied, 

And rising to his feet 
Stepped forward and stood by her side, 

Saying, " My sister sweet 
The prize thou seekest not thou'lt gain; 

To thee a pledge I give : 
I love thee, take this ruby chain 

And come with me and live." 



20 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXXVI 

Swift to the throne Khanna made way 

And said " King, I mete 
To thee a good report to-day, 

Such as thy heart will greet: 
The butterfly, that dodged the kite 

And too escaped its mate, 
Was captured yet before 't was night, — 

Such was Grautama's fate!" 

XXXVII 

'^' Brahma be praised!" rejoined the King, 
" And may this Sakya bride 
His thoughts back to enjoyment bring. 

And fire anew his pride; 
Yet 'tis not well that he should be 

Guarded by love alone, 
Build him a court, but lest he flee. 
Place round a wall of stone." 

XXXVIII 

Then built they him a palace high 

Of brick, fresh from the mold. 
White roofed, blue ceiled with lazuli 

And filagree of gold. 
And planted round a scented grove — 

Palsa and sandal-wood, 
Nelumbo with its flowers of love. 

Cypress, and tree of Bohd. 

XXXIX 

From lotus circles fountains sprang. 

Starting a crystal stream 
That wandered round where blossoms hang 

And pearly pebbles gleam; 
Bearing a white swan on its tide. 

That sung not yet its lay; 
While snowy cygnets swam beside. 

Above the sun-birds play. 



Gautama. 21 

XL 

In sunny alcoves musk-deer browsed 

With the soft-eyed gazelle, 
In darker shades the white owl drows'd 

On thro' the noon-day spell; 
While in the palace cyrabals rang 

To step of nautch girls coy, 
Who to the Prince and Ila sang 

Carols of love and joy. 

XLI 

All were forewarned not to appear 

Wan-faced or sick or sad; 
Who did, passed from this palace dear 

And lasting exile had. 
So far the Prince knew scarce of ail 

Of suffering or pain. 
And if he drooped, some am'rons tale 

To bliss led back again. 

XLII 

Once, seated in a beauteous grove 

With Ila by, he cried: 
" Tell me a story, Ila, love, 

Of the vast world outside — 
A story of the realm that lies 

Without these marble walls. 
For it hath feasted oft thine eyes 

Before thou graced mine halls. 

XLIII 

" Or tell me one from Yedas, love. 

That book the priests do keep; 
Which tells of Brahm's might and love^ 

And Swerga's blessed sleep. 
For tho' I've never read the book, 

Khanna hath told me plain 
It says that, like the sea and brook, 

We part, but meet again." 



22 The Pagan's Poems. 

XLIV 

" I will," said Ila, with a smile, 
Laying lier hand in his. 
" Far, far from here, on Ceylon's isle 
A beaut'ous garden is. 
When Supreme Brahma sought to do 

And make this world so fair, 
He made a man, and woman, too, 
And kindly placed them there. 

XLV 

" It was the grandest spot on earth — 

The white rose had no thorn. 
The world of sin and pain was dearth. 

Birds sang both night and morn. 
The champak buds and passion flowers 

Twined round the banyan trees. 
And o'er a thousand em'rald bowers 

Hummed stingless honey-bees. 

XLVI 

" The trees with flowers were clothed, or teemed 

With sweet, delicious fruit; 
When winds passed thro' the leaves it seemed 

Like the soft tones of lutes. 
'T was here that Adam Heva wooed, 

For it was Brahm's desire 
That they with love should be imbued 

Ere they quenched passion's fire. 

XL VII 

"Soon they were wed; Brahm blessed the tie 

And said: 'My children dear^ 
Obey me, and ye shall not die 

But bide forever here. 
Seek thou no other than this land. 

For all to me are known; 
This is the fairest I command 

And here I place my throne.' 



Gautama. 23 

xLvm 
^' But Adam heeded not liis words, 
And strolling 'long the beach 
He sighed, ' Had we the wings of birds 

We could leave this dull reach. 
More beautiful is yonder land. 

Much sweeter are its flowers, 
Yon shining plain is far more grand 
Than all this land of ours.' 

XLIX 

" For Nanda, who doth man beguile, 

Made a mirage appear — 
'T was a reflection of their isle. 

Yet looked to them more dear. 
Just then appeared a narrow road, 

And Adam seized his bride, 
Bearing this sweet and lovely load 

He sought the further side. 

L 

When reached, they heard a rumbling sound, 

Down went the strip of land. 
And the forbidden soil they found 

Was naught but barren sand. 
The shining plain was desolate, 

Its face no flowers bore; 
Then Brahm said, ' Thou hast shaped thy fate, 

Content with it e'ermore.' " 

LI 

Buddh's dark eyes filled, he bowed his head, 
And spake, " Bring me that book," 
" Nay, noble Prince," then Ha said, 
"Wear thou no sorrowed look. 
List, I'll tell thee another tale — 
One thou hast never heard — 
About a sweet-tongued nightingale, 
My Prince hast seen the bird," 



24 The Pagan's Poems. 

LII 

She said, " Many spear lengths from here,. 

Among the Himalas, 
Lived a bird which, with voice so clear. 

Sung never-ending lays. 
It built its nest among the flowers, 

Hard by a gentle stream, 
There, thro' the happy summer hours. 

It lived in joy supreme. 

LIII 

" Sometimes it swung upon a reed 

Moved by the gentle breeze, 
Sometimes it picked the wild rice seed,, 

Or sang among the trees. 
Anon the stork stalked by its nest -^ 

Close to the water's brink; 
Often the cheetah by it pressed, 

Pausing a trice to drink. 

LIV 

" One day a courtier heard its song. 

And list'd with jealous ear. 
He sat a snare in leaves among. 

Captured and brought it here. 
Grave it a present to the Prince ■ 

Who is my joy — my king! 
Here it has charmed us ever since. 

List! now I hear it sing. 

LV 

" Clear rise its notes, now touchingly 

They slowly die away, 
'Tis singing of that home once free^ 

Beyond the Himala. 
Sings of that once free happy life. 

Barren of pain and toil, 
It knew ere I became your wife — 

Became your willing spoil. 



Gautama. 25 

LVI 

*' To-day, confined in golden cage, 

It pines for moments free, 
One moment worth more than an age 

Of sweet captivity. 
But the King said yon must not know 

Of pain, or anguish, or 
Of mankind's heavy load of woe, 

So think of it no more." 

LVII 

■"Soft!" said the Prince, "I, like the bird. 

Am in a gilded cage, 
And fain would see the world IVe heard 

Was cursed by Brahm in rage. 
I fain would leave this changeless bliss — 

My prison from my youth — 
To feast my hnngry soul, and kiss 

The holy shrine of Truth. 

LVIII 

"But ne'er again that bird shall sing- 
To us its song of pain; 

Ne'er again shall its sweet notes ring 
A captive's sad refrain. 

Hark! was that Khanna's step I heard? 
Go quick to him and say 

The Prince commands: Let go the bird 
Brought here from Himala! 

LIX 

" And yoke my chariot at noon. 

For now 1 wish to see 
If rhyot's toil, and king's impugn. 

For such the bird told me. 
As I have listened many a time 

Unto its sweet refrain, 
Often I thought its song sublime 

Was but a sorrowed strain." 



26 The Pagan's Poems. 

LX 

'Twas told the king, "Tis true," lie said,, 

"'Tis time that he should see 
The realm whose crown shall fit his head 

When the pyre flames for me. 
'T is time that he should note the ills 

That life and death do bring; 
That it is sweat and blood that fills 

The coffers of the king." 

LXI 

And as he wished, his chariot 

Rolled thro' the streets at noon 
With him and Khanna, he would not 

Have courtier or dragoon. 
For 'twas his wish that he should be 

TJnknown to high and low. 
' So when he reached the pave's end he 

Bade Khanna farther go. 

LXII 

" What is the truth I'll tell to him, 
And where he wills I'll go," 
Thought Khanna, wondering at the whim 
Which moved Gautama so. 
"But this is strange! aye, strange is this! 
That he would leave his queen. 
His palace, nautch girls, and his bliss, 
, For sorrows I have seen!" 



PART SECOND. 



We look before and after, 
And pine for what is not; 
Our sincerest laughter 
With some pain is fraught. 
Our sweetest songs are those which tell of saddest tho't. 

—Sfielleyr 

I 

They passed the goatherd by the steep, 

The rhyot by the well; 
They wound along where fountains leap, 

Where browsed the coy gazelle; 
By clump of musk, where branches wave, 

They paused, before them lay 
A friendless, dying Sudra slave 
Under a palsa spray. 
II 
" What is this, Khanna? " said my lord, 
"That looketh like a man? 
Why struggles he upon the sward, 

Calling so loud on Brahm ? 
See ! How fiercely he doth grind his teeth^ 

And grips his hand so tight. 
Why does he choke, and curse, and writhe, 
Straining with main and might?" 
Ill 
" This man is stricken with the pest," 

Was Khanna's choked reply, 
"And ere yon orb sinks in the west 
This trembling form will die! 
Last eve his eye was lit with mirth, 

He danced with fairy feet; 

To-night his ashes mix with earth 

Under the blossoms sweet. 



,28 The Pagan's Poems. 

IV 

" Yestreen lie wooed and won a maid 

So blitlie, so gay, and free; 
To-day slie slumber's 'neath. the shade 

Of yonder banyan tree. 
Last eve they parted with a kiss, 

Hoping at morn to meet; 
To-night they '11 wake in endless bliss 

In the Nirvana sweet." 

V 

Then spake the Prince: "Come all men so? 

Will you so, and will I; 
Must all my lovely nautch-girls go? 

Will my loved Ila die?" 
''Aye, noble Prince ! "" Khanna replied — 

Soon will Life's wreary train 
Sweep o'er us like the Gunga's tide, 

And bring the end of pain." 

VI 

" Why come men so? " Gautama asked; 

A tear rolled down his cheek, 
His form an unknown grief now tasked, 

Too full his heart to speak. 
Khanna replied: "Men do not know 

The cause of Death and Birth. 
Why Brahma doth with Siva go. 

Men do not know on earth." 

VII 

^'I've learned men die, but what is Death? " 
Gautama sadly said. 
Khanna replied beneath his breath, 

"My lord, here comes the dead!" 
Buddh looked, and coming down the road, 

Beheld a solemn van. 
The foremost, seeming, bore a load, — 
The burden was a man. 



Gautama. 29 

VIII 

A ghastly cliange had settled deep 

Upon the manly face, 
The eyes were closed as tho' in sleep, 

The lips had lost their grace. 
From the soft cheek the bloom had fled, 

The tongue was silent now. 
The hair lay dank about the head. 

And o'er the pallid brow. 

IX 

And they who loved him once wept round 

The flower-ladened bier; 
One threw herself upon the ground 

Calling on Brahm to hear 
The one request she chose to make: 

"Let me my loved one keep. 
Or let me go with him and take 

Repose in Swerga's sleep!" 
X . 
This much the Prince saw as they passed, 

And neared the funeral pyre, 
And as he speechless stood aghast^ 

They set the pile on fire. 
They laid the body in the flame, 

And threw on it incense, 
And soon it, while they prayed to Brahm, 

Mixed with the elements. 

XI 

Then spake Grautama, '' Drive me back ! 

For I enough have seen 
Of pains men have, and joys they lack, 

To make a full face lean. 
The veil is rent that blinded me. 

And I have seen far more 
Than I did e'er expect to see 

By Gunga's fretted shore ! 



30 The Pagan's Poems. 

XII 

" To Bralim man is a cringing slave, 

Praying for blood and breath ! 
All slay^ yet seek their lives to save — 

Life living upon death. 
One vast conspiracy I see; 

One whirlpool where all dive ! " 
Of all orders of life that be, 

Not e'en the strong survive! 
xni 
" Why is it Brahm doth seldom hear, 

Or rather, answers not 
The sad appeals that reach his ear 

From every peopled spot? 
I would not let one mortal weep 

That I could render aid; 
Not one need enter Swerga's sleep, 

Or sweet Nirvana's shade ! 

XIV 

" Perhaps this god himself is weak, 

And needs the aid of man; 
Being too powerless to speak 

Does not speak well for Brahm. 
How could he scourge, if he is Love, 

His children with the rod? 
And if he sits unmoved above, 

Surely he is not God! 

XV 

"Why does Life's fair tree bear a thorn 

If it could elsewise be ? 
Why do the blossoms fade at morn, 

If powerful is He ? 
Methinks that he the thorn could prune, 

If he hath so much might ! 
Could shield the flower through the noon, 

Unto the dreamless night!" 



Gautama. 31 

XVI 

Then drove lie back to palace gate, 

And trode tlie halls so bright, 
With arm around the dusky mate, 

Whose bright eyes were his light. 
He said: "My queen, it needs must be. 

That I shall break this chain 
Which so far has been binding me, 

Deliverance to obtain! 

XVII 

■"Naught I may gain, but much may lose, 

Yet I would know the whole 
Secret of Life; for this I choose 

To grasp a beggar's bowl. 
The realm of Indra charms me not. 

Empty its honors are; 
I fain would have the Rishi's lot, 

And seek Truth's fadeless star. 

XVIII 

" Time teaches me that passions die, 

And Love, too, hath an end; 
That the sweet sunlight of your eye 

Doth on Time's grace depend. 
It tells me that your cheek will pale. 

Your tongue will lose its jest; 
That you will find in Swerga's vale 

A sinless^ stirless rest. 

XIX 

"It tells me that my form will bow 

Under the weight of years; 
My eyes, that are so lustrous now, 

Will fill with rheum and tears. 
This arm, that binds thy silk-soft waist. 

Shall wither like the reed; 
These locks that bathe thy fingers chaste. 

Shall whiten like rice-seed. 



32 The Pagan's Poems. 

XX 

" How could we live in happiness 

Seeing eacli other die? 
How could you help but love me less 

When blissful passions fly? 
What joy is there for us to court, 

Since Death is changeless, deep? 
One hour of bliss — one lifetime short — 

Then Swerga's endless sleep." 

XXI 

" Hush, my dear Prince! Talk not to me 

In such a mournful strain, 
If such a change should ever be, 

My heart would burst with pain; 
I could not give you up to Death — 

That skeleton of feasts — 
We cannot, will not, lose this breath, 

And transmigrate to beasts! 

XXII 

" But why do ye so meditate 

Upon this grief profound? 
Know ye not that the wheel of Fate 

Ceaselessly turns around 
With spokes of grief and tire of tears 

And nave of nothingness? 
So it will whirl for myriad years, 

Tears will not turn one less." 

XXIII 

And giving his pale cheek a kiss. 

Said, " Come with me, my King! 
Forget this spell and turn to bliss — 

Come hear the nautch girls sing! 
List! There is Hastra's bird-like note, 

She has not yet sung long! " 
Then pealed there from the nautch girl's throat 

The wandVing wind's weird song: 



Gautama. 33 

XXIV 

" List to my song," said the Avild wind, 
" I will my story tell ! 
Aimless am I — ruled by a mind 

Knowing no potent spell. 
Tho' I am tired, I never rest 

Or halt by brook or pond; 
Pause not by sea, or mountain crest, 
I seek a rest beyond. 

XXV 

" I may be weak and blind to-day. 

Ruled by the forest's bower; 
To-morrow wild waves feel my sway, 

Men tremble at my power. 
Round I may pass a million times 

Parting with sunshine fond; 
But tho' I kiss a thousand climes, 

I seek a rest beyond! 

XXXVI 

"Changless am I, but I never change; 

Tired, but never toil! 
I seek Himala's highest range, 

I race o'er Malwa's soil. 
One day I greet the morning land 

Just as the sun has dawned; 
At eve I waft o'er Egypt's sand, 

Yet find no rest beyond. 

XXVII 

"You would not wonder why I moan 

If you beheld all lands: 
Saw how the peasants sweat and groan, 

How widows wring their hands; 
Heard the slaves praying to be freed, 

How the proud priests respond 
With chant, dogma and cursed creed, 

Heavens and hells beyond. 



The Pagan's Poems. 

XXVIII 

" Yet move I on in endless wake, 

Gazing on grief and mirth, 
Heartless am I! yet I would take 

A heartfelt leave of earth. 
Fain wonld I outstrip yonder star 

And break this inane bond, 
Leap o'er the circumambient bar. 

And find rest — truth ^ beyond." 

XXIX 

^' Come, Hastra, here," Gautama said, 
"And sing that song again! 
Nay! give no other one instead 
But sing the same refrain. 
Nay! do not be afraid to sing. 

Exiled ye will not be; 
I'll favor ask before the King, 
And ye shall bide with me. 

XXX 

" For thanks, Hastra, receive this pearly 

Hence go I soon imbued. 
Now I see the laughing girl. 

Next, thou art womanhood. 
I go to seek that hallowed shrine 

Where courtiers ne'er have fawned; 
Like the wind in thy song divine, 

I seek that rest beyond. 

XXXI 

" I'll leave this gilded cage of mine 

Ere comes another night; 
I'll go and seek Truth's hallowed shrine 

Before 'tis morning light! 
For I would know the cause of birth, 

The secret of decay; 
Why desolation runs o'er earth 

Breaking e'en monarch's sway. 



Gautama. 35 

XXXII 

*'Day after day within these walls 

I pine away my life; 
The still, small voice of conscience calls 

Away from child and wife. 
It bids me leave this realm of bliss 

While I am yet in youth, 
Deliverance seek for man, and kiss 

The holy shrine of Truth. 

XXXIII 

*' For what are Indra's realms to me 

When greater ones I know 
Can be built up, as all can see. 

By subduing Man's woe. 
And if Truth's volume I can reach, ' 

Which mortal hath not saw, 
Then, surely, I to all can teach 

The Truth, the Light, the Law! 

XXXIV 

■"This is my fullness of desire. 

For when men see the light, 
They are as gold drawn from the fire, 

As the noon sunbeam bright. 
For lost is the priesthood's token, 

Dried are the mourner's tears. 
And the words that Fear hath spoken 

Join in the flight of years. 
XXXV 
■" Farewell, my little Hastra, dear. 

And may thy walls of pain 
Crumble ere the close of the year. 

Ne'er to be built again. 
I go to search until I find 

Where joy and pain do dwell; 
I leave all love and bliss behind, 

Kiss my fair queen farewell." 



36 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXXVI 

The Prince escaped the guards that night, 

Passed from his prison free; 
He sought to find Truth's holy light, 

And save Humanity. 
Doffing a royal robe and crest, 

A yellow robe he donned, 
Forward with beggar's bowl he pressed. 

To fathom the beyond, 

XXXVII 

He left a realm — left Joy's abode — 

An earthly paradise ; 
Forsook Enjoyment's broad high road. 

While tears filled Ila's eyes. 
He left a babe, and gray-haired sire^ 

The guardian of his youth. 
He lit stern self-denial's fire 

To seek the gem of Truth. 

XXXVIII 

He held Truth was a precious gem. 

Dearer to him by far 
Than all in Indra's diadem. 

Or Heaven's regal star. 
That search and fortitude alone 

Might grasp the jewel j^et. 
Which none that upheld Indra's throne 

Eyes upon ever set. 

XXXIX 

So he, humblest of all who tried 

To mitigate man's woe, 
Would lay all bliss and joy aside, 

A precious seed to sow. 
If he could only find that seed. 

His labor would be sweet, 
Man neither pain nor death would need, 

Life would lose its deceit. 



Gautama. 37 

XL 

Unto Benares 'mid the hills, 

Gautama bent his way, 
Following gently flowing rills, 

That spring from Himala, 
And seek the Ganges' turbid wave 

With many curves and deeps. 
Pass by the purdah of the slave, 

Or where the brahmin sleeps. 

XLI 

So with this noble end in view. 

He now paused till the morn. 
With rising sun, would guide him thro' 

The jungle and the thorn. 
And usher him into a reach, 

Slumbering and dreamy then, 
That soon would hear him humbly teach 

Compassion unto men. 



PART THIRD. 



We should fill the hours with sweetest songs, 

If we have but a day! 
We should drink alone at the purest spring, 

In our upward way! 
We should love with a life-time's love in an hour, 

If the hours are few! 
We should rest, not for dreams, but for power. 

To be and to do! 

—Lulu (?. Kepford. 



To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die. 

— Campbell. 



1 

Thrice had tlie rice been garnered in 

Since Buddli quit Paradise; 
Thrice had the flowers' fragrance been 

Since he 'scaped Ila's eyes; 
Thrice had the season's wheel turned rounds 

Adding three years to youth, 
But little of the gold he found 

That gilds the shrine of Truth. 

II 

Under an orange tree he stood, 

Blessing its cool sweet shade, 
A woman drew near, crying " Buddh! " 
Then paused, seeming afraid. 
" Speak, sister sweet," commanded he, 
"What wilt thou have me do? 
Is there aught I can do for thee ? 
Thou seemest troubled too." 



Gautama. 39 

III 
" Master," slie said, " within yon brake 
I dwelt, from liome exiled, 
With this: — naught else joy's thirst could slake — 

A curly-haired love-child. 
I know this voices all my shame^ 

But, sir, my heart is sore ! 
The child was sweet, and not to blame, 
I could not love him more, 

IV 

'' Last eve I nursed him till he slept, 

And, sir, I felt so glad 
That I — while shadows o'er us crept — 

Forgot I 'd been so bad. 
Dropping my head upon my hand, 

I sank in slumber deep. 
And when I woke the sunlight grand 

Bathed my boy, yet asleep. 

V 

" Softly I bent to kiss his cheek. 

Oh, sir! the bloom had fled! 
I tried to pray — I could not speak — 

My babe, my Grod! ivas dead! 
Oh, when I saw, my heart nigh broke 

And outpoured sorrow'.s flood; 
Clasped in my arms, ere I awoke 

A vampire drank his blood. 

VI 

" I could not think that he was dead, 

He was so innocent! 
But true ! the spark of life had fled, 

And now my heart is rent ! 
And so I 've come to you, kind sir, 

To kneel and kiss your palm; 
If you know what will life recur. 

Oh, pray give me that balm. 



40 The Pagan's Poems. 

VII 

He spake, " Sweet sister, I, too, seek 

That balm which might cure pain; 
I left by Devi's frowning peak 

A link of true love's chain. 
And I have sought — yea! vainly sought. 

The secret of decay; 
Tho' seeking still, I've found it not — 

Show me thy baby, pray!" 

VIII 

Gently she raised the silken fold 

That hid a form of grace ; 
He saw beneath, 'mid curls of gold, 

A pale and handsome face. 
And as he bent with swelling heart 

Consoling words to speak. 
The curls the mother's fingers part. 

Her tears fall on its cheek. 

IX 

"Come! little mother, dry your tears. 

Which fall as summer rain. 
Thy babe is freed from griefs and fears 

That fill this life with pain. 
Know ye! some flowers fade at morn, 

Some wither at high noon; 
The sweetest flowers oft adorn 

The van of Death's platoon! 

X 

"He has but found what all must find, 

Tho' few do for it search; 
It silences the grandest mind, 

It sweeps the eagle's perch. 
It comes where hearts beat glad and warm. 

Where Hymen's cymbal rings — 
It lays the humblest Sudra's form 

Amid the dust of kinsrs! 



Gautama. 41 



XI 

"No man can say, ' My life is miae ! ' 

For round all beings draw 
Something that man has held divine, 

A stern and changeless law. 
All ages and conditions die 

Under this heartless frost. 
The strong to-day may clamber high, 

But are to-morrow — lost ! 

XII 

" The beautiful, as buds, adorn 

The wond'rous tree of life; 
But lo! the frost comes erst the morn,, 

And then the pruning knife 
On thro' the day doth havoc make, 

Hewing the branches down; 
Anon some thoughtless cherubs take 

The sweetest for a crown. 

XIII 

" Sister, thou hast a noble heart 

To give thyself all blame; 
Methinks that you are loath to part 

E'en with the fruit of shame! 
But it must he ! So dry your tears 

And cease your ravings wild, 
For he is dead! True are thy fears, 

Go bury thou thy child. 

XIV 

"Begin your life anew again. 
Repel the spoiler's kiss; 
Join in compassion's lofty train. 

And seek Nirvana's bliss. 
For you may find the gem you've lost 

As Love's security. 
And fill your heart, careless of cost, 
With inward purity, 
A 



42 The Pagan's Poems. 

XV 

" Up from the mud the lotus-flower 

Springs with its beauty are; 
In the foul fen the champak-bower 

Sweetens the poisoned air. 
Out of the dust comes glittering gold; 

Up from the salt sea, pearls. 
Jaspers and rubies come from mold, 

And bind a princess' curls. 

XVI 

■"The loom of worms weave softest silk; 

Homeliest trees yield spice; 
And whiter than Vahuka's milk 

Is the salt marsh's rice. 
Murky is Gunga's turbid stream, 

But see! its restless tides 
With Indra's wealth and plenty teem, 

As to the sea it glides. 

XVII 

^' So, then, take heart and dry your tears. 

For tho' your sins were deep, 
They '11 wear away in course of time, 

And bring Nirvana's sleep. 
For if you henceforth practice truth, 

Virtue and charity, 
Brahm will forgive the sins of youth. 

And all thy good deeds see ! " 

XVIII 

Kissing her cheek he turned away, 

Then paused, and to her said, 
" Sweet sister, let me help you lay 

Away this blossom dead. " 
She bowed her head^ and to him gave 

A look of fullest trust. 
While in a rude-dug narrow bed. 

He laid the babe in dust. 



Gautama. ,43 

XIX 

Then once again lie turned away, 

And left lier witli her grief; 
For all the words that man can say, 

Can never give relief 
Unto the bleeding heart of one 

Whom heartless death has robbed 
Of parent, daughter, mate, or son. 

Whose heart with love had throbbed. 
,xx 
Along the highway passed my lord, 

When, 'neath a palsa spray. 
With life-blood coloring the sward, 

A dying Sudra lay. 
He stopped, and down beside him knelt, 

Saying, "Thus life doth irk;" 
But then the throbbing heart he felt. 

Death had not done its work. 

XXI 

" I'm a Sudra, my touch defiles!" 

Muttered the dying slave. 
"Away Rishi! ere Death beguiles 

E'en thou, who would me save! 
Pestilence drew to me nigh, 

And 'neath this palsa spray, 
I, friendless and alone, must die 
To-morrow or next day!" 

XXII 

But Buddha loosed his mantle's fold. 

And smoothed his pallid cheek; 
Seizing the hand benumbed and cold. 

Unto the slave did speak: 
■" Say, no! Man is not born with blood 

Freighted with royal spark! 
He is not born with Brahmin's hood, 

Or caste, or tilka mark! 



44 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXIII 

" As you are now all men must be 

Before they learn the Law; 
The cause of Death and Birth; and see 

Nirvana 'round them draw. 
There is no heaven yet so high, 

No Stygian depth so low, 
A single caste shall occupy, 

Where others cannot go! 

XXIV 

"I see thou art a Sudra; yet 

Thy life hath been a gem. 
Burnished by honest labor's sweaty 

Set in Truth's diadem ! 
Caste is not born in blood, I say; 

Death makes all equal, free! 
Thou'lt reach the Lethe's shore to-day^ 

Nirvana waits for thee! " 

XXV 

There knelt he by the dying slave, 

As round the shadows stole, 
'Til Life paused by a yawning grave. 

Which may not clog the soul. 
Until Death laid him for the tomb — 

His sickle left to rust — 
Life, like the rose, may bud and bloom, 

Buds to flow'rs, flow'rs to dust. 

XXVI 

Then prayed pitiful, loving Buddh, 

By the dead Sudra's form. 
Head bowed, hands clasped, and heart subdued 

By keen compassion's storm. 
From his swart cheek fell briny tears 

On the slave's bosom bare. 
He prayed to that God mankind fear. 

Here is Gautama's prayer: 



Gautama. 45 

XXVII 

*' SuPKEME ! How mighty is thy might, 

And yet thy mercy weak — 
So weak, that thou didst leave the blight 

Fall on this Sudra's cheek! 
He had but reached the noon of life. 

His arms and heart were stout; 
He labored for a child and wife, 

But now the lamp's gone out. 

XXVIII 

" His father, bent with four score years, 

Leans on his aged staff; 
He long hath sought this vale of tears 

Whose springs all mortals quaff! 
He fain would give his fleeting breath 

His slumbering wife to greet ; 
And thro' the open door of Death 

Enter Nirvana sweet. 

XXIX 

''^ He would have gladly went instead. 

But merciless art thou — 
Who takes, altho' the loved have plead, 

The hand that holds the plow! 
For thou didst touch with chast'ning rod 

This man, whose noble form 
Throbbed with the pulses of a God,— 

But are no longer warm. 

XXX 

*' Omnipotent! Supreme! Lo! Thou, 

Who shapes man's destiny — 
Behold all castes are praying now 

From Sorrow to be free. 
'Neath each star in thy azure fields, 

Where raised souls walk in glory. 
Some weeping, heart-broke mortal kneels 

Telling the self-same story ! 



46 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXXI 

" This morn a mother lost her boy, 

Dearer to her than life; 
This eve an old man's prop and joy 

Is torn from child and wife ! 
The oak lies prostrate, and the vine 

Clings trembling to the bough ! 
On vine and flower pale stars shine, — 

Where is their support now? 

XXXII 

"Yet ye are strong — priests call you Strength, 

And Love and Wisdom, too; 
It may be I know not the length 

Thy mereies reach unto! 
But, Supreme! If joy is aught. 

Why do ye check the fount? 
Why is it not the rhyot's lot 

A higher sphere to mount? 

XXXIII 

"Lo! I have wandered years to find 

The secret of decay: — 
Why men, who come as buds, pined 

As the flowers away! 
Why sweetest blossoms soonest fade, 

And naught but dust is seen! 
Why e'en the mighty forest shade 

Must lose its living green! 

XXXIV 

" I know that Man is sinful, weak. 

But thou hast made him so — 
The fear of Thee doth blanch his cheeky 

Prime factor of his woe! 
To Thee lies bare his thought ! 

On Thee his strength depends! 
Then why is it you direct not 

His toil to nobler ends? 



Gautama. 47 

XXXV 

'''"Supreme ! To thy decree I bow, 

Let thy great laws be known ! 
Behold! I kneel in reverence now 

Before thy unseen throne! 
I pray Thee give to suffering man 

The balm of Truthfulness; 
And all the priesthood — ruthless clan — . 

Endow with usefulness! 

XXXVI 

"Oh! I beseech Thee, take from life 

The ever-piercing thorn! 
Let e'en the Sudra and his wife 

Be blithe as spring-time's morn! 
Let naught but Truth be spoken, — 

Break Superstition's spell, — 
Hide that infamous token: 

A never-ending Hell! 

XXXVII 

"Drive, if Thou canst, from earth all sin, 

Lst man live fearless, free! 
And lead his wandering footsteps in 

The path of Purity! 
Take from his Eden of desire 

The carnal appetite — 
Subdue the flame of lustful fire, 

And spread the Truth, the Light! 

XXXVIII 

'"'' Supreme ! Grant me my feeble prayer — 

Not for myself alone. 
But for the millions that Sin's snare 

Holds from thy boundless throne! 
Unto mankind thy laws present, — 

Thy love and wisdom tend! 
This done; my starved soul is content, 

I'll gladly say — Amen!" 



48 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXXIX 

Up rose tlie Pitiful, and on 

Went lie liis weary way. 
Niglit's sable cloud had almost gone, 

O'er hilltops peeped the day, 
Beside a well where Sudras stood. 

And marvelled at his grace. 
Paused noble, compassionate Buddh, 

And bathed his tear-stained face. 

XL 

They gathered round him as he spake 

Of Life, that all hold dear, 
That none can give, but all can take, 

And all lose, year by year. 
It'may be sad — it may be sweet — 

Yet it the meanest wis', 
None wish to lose it tho' they meet 

Their loved in Swerga's bliss! 

XLI 

He told how life was filled with fear 

By priests, present and past. 
Its plains were made barren and drear 

By storms that cannot last. 
This desert drear might fertile be 

If men but lyradiced Truth, 
And used not cursed subtlety 

To warp the mind of Youth. 

XLII 

" Know ye, the priests have taught," he said, 
''Only the gods endure! 
While hangs the dewdrop o'er the sea 

Then only is it pure. 
For when it slips into the wave 
'Tis salt, like Mother Sea; 
So gods were powerless to save 
If they with man should be. 



GUATAMA. 49 

XLIII 

"But througli this death — a second birth — 

The soul is purified^ 
And flies to Brahm, leaving this earth, 

Where griefs and woes abide. 
He who on angel wings would soar, 

Must on a firm faith feast ! 
This key alone ope's Heaven's door: 

Serve God and pay the priest ! 

XLIV 

"I seek the Truth — have sought it long; 

I love these priests, — as men — 
But Error hate! These priests are wrong! 

Within the searcher's ken 
Their clouds of Superstition part — 

Their dogma's fade as mist — 
Their prayers spring from the lip — not heart; 

They even Truth resist. 

XLV 

''Be noble! not because ye fear 

That, when this clogging breath 
Doth at last end, Brahm's curse ye'll hear 

Come with the knell of death! 
For death's a painless, stirless sleep 

Within Nirvana's gate, 
Which all must take, tho' none would keep, — 

A sleep which none should hate. 

XLVI 

" Nay! I go on. Worship me not! 

For I am but a youth 
That has embraced a Rishi's lot 

Searching for the living truth. 
And tho' men praise and extol me. 

And call me ' Allwise ' — ' Buddh,' 
I am no more than all can be 

Who passion's sleep subdued. 



PART FOURTH. 



Your creeds are dead, your rights are dead, 

Your social order, too. 
Where tarries he — the Power ^¥ho said 

Lo! I make all things new? 

— M. Arnold. 

O Life and Love ! O happy throng 
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! 
O heart of man ! Canst thou not be 
Blithe as the air is, and as free? 

— Longfellow. 



I 

Still roamed the Prince unsatisfied, 

Seeking that unfound Truth. 
His form now bent, his lean cheek dyed 

No more with blooming youth; 
Those eyes like gleaming firebrands 

Still lit his wandering soul, 
But weak and palsied were the hands 

That grasped the beggar's bowl. 

II 
Bent on his search he noticed not 

His strength and beauty fade, 
Till, from the sun, one day he sought 

A great palm's cooling shade; 
And here, behold! were men who make 

Their bodies homes of pain, 
So that the soul its flight will take 

To endless Joy's domain. 



Gautama. 51 

III 
Some upon beds of spikes reclined, 

Covered with gashes sore; 
Some had bent down till their strength pined. 

And kept them bending o'er; 
Some stood with withered arms aloft; 

Some tore their flesh with flints; 
As he had seen these doings oft, 

This question asked the Prince: 

IV 

" Why, upon self bring ye this woe. 

Is life so dearth of pain, 
And pain so sweet that you would go 

And court it o'er again? 
Why do ye torture thus the flesh 

Until its red streams flow, 
And when they clog tear them afresh? 

Speak ye! for I would know." 
V 
One answer made: " The flesh is vile. 

And doth entomb the soul! 
But if ye torture bear a while 

The stone away will roll. 
The tomb will ope, the soul, unstained, 

Will take its winged flight 
To where eternal joy 's attained. 

Free from sin's loathesome blight.'^ 

VI 

"But/' said the Prince, "why evil add 

To evil? Why still sow 
More seeds of pain ? For life is bad 

At best. Do ye not know 
That there are fevers, aches and pains 

Sown by some unknown hand? 
Oft streams are bound by unseen chains, 

And famine sweeps the land." 



52 The Pagan's Poems. 

VII 

" Yea, Rishi! This know I^ and more!" 

Said one, "I chose this path 
Leading where Brahm hath gone before, 

To share the joys he hath. 
And, even tho' this life be long. 

Sometime the end must come. 
Who would not bear a moment's wrong 

For ceaseless joys and home? 

VIII 

*' Know ye a path yet more divine ? 

If not, then go thy way 
And say no more. Let me go mine 

Which leads to endless day. 
But if this self -wrought pain he sin, 

Look to thyself! For know: 
Thy footsteps are not walking in 

The path you'd have me go." 

IX 

No answer made the Prince, for Truth 

Was in the last remark. 
" I am robbing myself of youth," 

Quoth he^ "of every spark; 
But yet if I the truth could find — 

Which surely will be soon — 
I'll join the joys I left behind. 

My queen, my boy, my throne ! " 

X 

Near lived a wise man, on the hill, 

Who read the mystic stars 
And knew the language of the rill — 

The length of Orient's bars — » 
And much of gods and nature. Here 

Grautama bent his way; 
And as a Brahmin priest drew near. 

To one and each did say: 



Gautama. 53 

XI 

" Tell me, thou searclier of the skies, 

If e'er within thy ken 
Hath swept this realm of Paradise 

That dogma teacheth men? 
Answer me plainly, ' yea ' or ' nay/ 

Tho' Lethe 'tween us purled, 
My soul would leave this clogging clay 

And seek that fairer world, 

XII 

'"''Not yet? Then tell me, man of God, 

What comfort canst thou give? 
Hast thou its gold pave ever trod? 

You teach men how to live ? 
Show me this Heaven! Show me Truth! 

Grive me a balm for pain ! 
Show me where I, in endless youth, 

May join my loved again! 

XIII 

''''You know not? No! The rhyot, blessed 
With ignorance, could tell 
As much as ye; e'en if he guessed 

That Earth alone is Hell, , ' 

And Death is Heaven, where all men 

Must, sometime, surely go. 
This is the priesthood's answer then: 
''We know no cure for woe I ' 

XIV 

"Ye priests, who rob the ignorant 

Of labor's hard-earned fruit; 
Claiming 'fore the Omnipotent 

To champion his suit — 
'Tis plain that ye should knoiv the laiv — 

The penalties as well — 
And not from thy own fancies draw 

Man's Heaven or his Hell ! 



54 The Pagan's Poems. 

XV 

" I think there is no deeper thought 

Than immortality! 
And true it is — tho' many sought 

That one reality — 
They've found it not. 'Tis yet to find! 

That Truth lies buried still! 
But I have dreamed that for mankind 

The world with truth will fill." 

XVI 

^'The truth lies buried? " asked the priest — 
'^Not so; the truth to-day 
Is'manifest. Yonder its feast 

Is spread! Wilt thou eat ? " "Yea! 
Lead the way ! I will follow you 

Farther than Brahm doth dwell 
To join such feast; for, if 'tis true, 
It will repay me well." 

XVII 

The priest then pointed to the vale 

That lay below the hill. 
And said^ " Behold! within yon dale, 

Beside yon laughing rill. 
There is a temple reared to Brahm. 

Within, in rev'rence deep. 
The priests will offer up a lamb, 

That the King's sin may sleep. 

XVIII 

^'This truth was found long years ago; 

The gods have so decreed. 
Whoso, thro' life, would bear no woe, 

A hundred lambs must bleed 
To death, and burn their bodies up, 

An offering unto Brahm; 
Then sure shall he on pleasure sup. 

Beyond in Swerga's calm! 



Gautama. 55 

XIX 

"The King is there! Bridle thy tougue 

Lest ye offence should give! 
If we with them do mingle 'mong, 

Say naught how man should live! 
Or of false priests — or Death, so dole — 

Or of thy fruitless search — 
Or that man hath no more of soul 

Than yon hawk on its perch, 

XX 

"For next to gods, are kings, then priests, 

Then men. You know the kite 
Eats not until the lion feasts; 

The silvery stars of night 
Shine not until the sun hath shone; 

The milky rice springs not 
Until the choicest seeds are sown. 

Be yours an equal lot." 

XXI 

Nought said the Prince, hut forward pressed 

Until he stood within 
The temple walls, the stranger guest 

Of those who battled sin. 
Before him lay the sacrifice 

Bound to the altar fast; 
Around the priesthood scattered rice, 

In honor of the caste. 

XXII 

Now one, who seemed the priest of all. 

Invoked the aid of Brahm, 
Then to the King did loudly call; 

" King, whose priest I am, 
Thy gift is ready for the Devs, 

And it is as they like, 
My ready steel its pure heart cleaves 

Soon as thou bid'st me strike!" 



56 ' The Pagan's Poems. 

XXIII 

" Let liim not strike ! " Grautama said,. 

And turning, faced tlie King; 
" For if a crore of lambs were bled 
What profit would it bring? 
Ye liave no rigbt to take a life 

Tbat ye cannot replace ! 
And know ye not, if sin be rife. 

This blood can naught efface?" 

XXIV 

And then he spake of Life and Deaths 

Which comes to king and slave 
As silent as the soft wind's breath 

That kisses Grunga's wave. 
How men to gods for mercy pray, 

And yet no mercy know — 
How priests should throw their steels^away 

And true compassion show. 

XXV 

Lo ! while he spoke they loosed the lamb^ 

And flung their sharp steels down — 
Scattered the fire — ceased crying "Brahm!" — 

And kissed Gautama's gown. 
While he told how Truth may be found, 

How Woe might exiled be, 
How slaves, who groveled on the ground. 

Should stand erect and free, 
xxxvi 
The King drew near, enchanted, pleased 

With the sweet words that fell 
From Buddha's lips; and then he seized 

His hand and shook it well. 
Then to the much-awed courtiers said 

" Go out thro' all the land 
And have this Teacher's precepts read, 

For 'tis the King's command: 



Gautama. 57 

XXVII 

" Never again sliall man take life, 
E'en of the meanest tiling; 
Within my realm no longer strife 
Shall use its dead'ning sting. 
Never again dumb sheep shall bleed 

To seemingly purge sin ! 
Ne'er shall the rhyot suffer need 
While gold's my coffer in! 
xxvin 
" Go carve this edict on the wall: — 

'SuDEAs! Cave dwellees! Heed! 
No more shall beast hy man's hand fall, 

The King hath so decreed! 
None shall eatjiesh! For hioiv, a life 

Must end ere meafs obtained!} 
Shed ye no bloody — for 'tis thro' strife 
Man's soul alone is stained ! ' 
xxix 
" And come, thou noblest of mankind, 
Forever abide with me; 
You gave him sight who once was blind, 

'Tis I that now can see. 
But I am old, my hair is white 

With the hoar-frosts of Time, 
And soon, for me, the pyre will light. 
And funeral bells will chime. 

XXX 

"I have no son, — be thou my son, 

Gems will I heap on thee. 
And make thee heir to all I've won 

In wars on land and sea! 
I'll build for thee a palace high 

Within yon garden green. 
And thou shalt have sweet Gotami, — 

My daughter — for thy c[ueen!" 



58 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXXI 

"Say no, dear King!" Gautama said, 
" All these had I, and more, 
I left a sire with silvered head, 

A wife and babe, before 
I came unto thy kingdom, and 
Thy priests did overwhelm. 
That sire rules o'er Indra grand. 
And I'm Prince of the Realm! 

XXXII 

•"But these I left to find the Truth — 

Therefore I've wandered years 
In tireless search, bartering youth 

For a full bowl of tears! 
My course is marked. No powers that be 

Could my fixed purpose win; 
'Tho' Brahm ope'd Swerga's gates for me 

And Devas wooed me in. 
xxxm 
"'Nay! nay! sweet King! I would not yield 

Tho' gods gave me their spheres. 
Unless that I this truth could win 

That I have sought for years; 
And then would I desire the wife 

Who crowned my early joy — 
Ila^ sweet sunshine of my life, 

And mother of my boy." 
xxxiv 
He stepped without, and once again 

Mingled with common men. 
Here he taught Truth to Brahmins vain, 

Proving Error a fen. 
Where the all-blighting Upas grew, 

That, with its poisoned flowers 
Dripping with Superstition's dew, 

'Bitters this life of ours. 



Gautama. 59 

XXXV 

There he compared man to the rain: 

How from the seas arise 
Mists and vapors, which do attain 

Lofty height in the skies; 
Where, cooled, condensed, in tiny spheres, 

They fall; by Nature's laws. 
By crores and crores, like laughing tears. 

Or those that Sorrow draws. 

XXXVI 

Thro' many clefts and nullahs sink, 

Bubbling out on the plain, 
A spring, which, joining Indus' brink. 

In the sea 's lost again; 
Xosing its life — its spirit pure — 

In the salt, acrid sea. 
This being true, can souls endure, 

And leave Man's body free? 

XXXVII 

Man — a spark from the Infinite — 

Crosses Life's barren range; 
x4. snare — Delusion fashioned it — 

Binds him. The wheel of change 
In fierce gyrations ceaseless moves. 

Bringing him joy and grief; 
Now giving death to those he loves, 

While he gat^hers the sheaf. 

XXXVIII 

Now filling fond parental eyes 

With joyous sparks of mirth; 
A babe is born — Alas! it dies 

An hour after birth. 
The mother dies! Toll solemn bells! 

'Tis vain on gods to call; 
The kingdom, where the Silence dwells, 

Holds her, and Death ends all. 



60 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXXIX 

For seven years lie sought tlie Truth 

With beggar's garb and bowl, 
In tireless search. Altho' his youth 

Knew but a hungered soul, 
His riper age was nobly crowned 

With higher truth and joy. 
And higher hopes — he sought and found 

Again his wife and boy. 

XL 

Ila, his queen, thro' all these years, 

Sorrowed much for her king. 
Bathing Rahula's head with tears, 

List'd to the nautch girls sing 
Of his fine form, his manly mien, 

His deeds of might and grace, 
And sighing, prayed, "Come to your queen!" 

Then sobbed and hid her face. 

XLI 

, While in her purdah thus she sat, 

Hastra leapt to her side. 
Saying, " Dear Queen, from Bohdiswat, 

By the chafed Gunga's side. 
Came, yesternight, a trading train 

Which of a strange man speak, 
Who speaks of Truth as balm for pain,. 

And is so nobly meek, 

XLII 

" Methinks, perchance, it is the Prince^ 

Who left us years ago. 
And hath been roaming ever since 

To find a balm for woe. 
For lo ! he speaks of being one — 

An heir to Indra's throne ! 
'Sides thy Rahula, there is none 

But Devadetta brown. 



Gautama. 61 

XLIII 

^' And tliy lost king. It must be he ! 

What think'st thoU; mistress fair? " 
Then Ila, laughing joyfully, 

Pushed back her raven hair, 
While, like the rain-drops from the eaves^ 

Fell tear-drops from her eyes 
Upon those breasts, that with joy heave. 

Like billows, sink and rise. 

XLIV 

She said, "0, Hastra! it is he! 

Go see those men, and bring 
One here, that he may give to me 

Some tidings of my king. 
I know 'tis he ! Else why this flame 

That warms my beating heart ? 
What name? If they but know his name. 

To-day, yet, will I start!" 

XLV 

Then Hastra to the purdah brought 

One of the trading men, 
Just as they entered his eye caught 

Rahula in its ken ; 
He paused, a look of deep surprise 

Passed o'er his swart, brown face, 
He said, "Behold the Teacher's eyes. 

Behold his form and grace!" 

XLVI 

With eager eyes the trader gazed 

Long on the smiling child, 
Then on the mother, half -amazed; 

And then, with manner mild. 
Lifted Rahula in his arms 

And said, " Sweet little one, 
Thou hast indeed the Teacher's charms! 

Tell me, art thou his son? " 



62 The Pagan's Poems. 

XLVII 

" Who is the teacher," Ila said, 

My son doth favor so?" 
Her eyes were streaming now; her head 

Was dizzy; all the glow 
Passed from her cheek. The trader's arm 

Caught her, his voice subdued 

Sank in her ear, "Know ye, my charm! 

I am the teacher., — Buddh !" 
***** 

XLVIII 

When the King heard that Buddh had come^ 

He said, "Go, bring him here! 
My heart is wond'ring why my son 

Has left these pleasures dear; 
And my eyes ache to gaze on him 

Who was my Maya's child; 
I fain would know what mystic whim 

Led him this chase so wild." 

XLIX 

Before the King Grautama came, 

Clad in his yellow gown. 
O'er the King's face a flush of shame 

Passed, and with angry frown. 
He spake: "Why come thou thus, my son,: 

Clad like a beggar maimed? 
Of all our caste never has one 

Before made it ashamed!" 

L 

"Father," he said, " speak Tiie not so. 

For I bring more than pride 
With me unto thy kingdom. Know, 

By sacred Grunga's side 
I found the Truth! and brought it heref 

Nobler is it than gloss. 
It teacheth humbleness; is dear 

Altho' it seemeth dross. 



Gautama. 63 

LI 

" Silks and fiue shawls appear to me 

Worthless as bits of wool; 
III gems and jaspers naught I see 

But the bright sunbeam full 
Of tiny motes, glittering dust, 

That glimmers, glistens, gleams; 
That darkness hides, as darkness must, 

AH- that from Error streams." 

LII 

Thus long he talked, but short it seemed, 

His words, as music, fell 
In hungry ears; enlightment gleamed 

In every word; the spell 
Remained unbroken. Those who stood 

Marvelled to hear him preach. 
The aged sire, with heart subdued, 

Listed to his noble speech. 

LIII 

Around nobles and Sudras ranged, 

And fell upon the sward, 
For radiant the face had changed. 

They cried, " Thou art a god!'' 
"Nay, rise ye, brethren!" said my lord; 

I am no more than ye! 
I eat, and drink, and walk the sward, 

As I am, all can be!" 



PART FIFTH. 



Eril swells tlie debts to pay; 

Good delivers and acquits. 
Shun evil, follow good, hold sway 

Over thyself. This is the way. 

— Edwin Arnold. 



I 

Again he spake. A caravan, 

Charmed by his magic word, 
Halted and let their oxen stand, 

This of the teacher heard: 
"Thus do I preach! Whoso will hear! 

Each man his prison makes. 
Pray not; for storm-clouds will not clear 

For bribes of fruits or cakes. 
II 
"But listen! for I tell you Truth — 

Higher than Heaven's star. 
Lower than Hell, stronger than Youth, 

Bright as Orient's bar! 
Men are not gods ! No god is there 

Except the Universe! 
He does not ask for tears or prayers ! 

After death will not curse ! 
Ill 
"Look around thee and see his face, 

Solemn and beautiful! 
Tho' thoughtless, ye live by his grace, 

He serves ye dutiful. 
Ye need not kneel to gods of stone. 

Or to the flame of fire ! 
The Universe is God alone! 

No god is higher, lower! 



Gautama. 65 

IV 

'" That man shall kneel, and cringe, and fawn, 

This god does not desire. 
His smile is but the sunlit morn, 

His wrath, the lightning's fire. 
Thus he has reigned for crores of years, 

For crores thus shown his rage; 
Why, then, should mankind dwell in fears — 

In fears older than age? 

V 

■*^ Know there are two extremes in life, 

Neither should mankind press; 
The onC; with lowest passions vile, 

Leads to unworthiness! 
The other, lined with bigotry, 

Denounces earnest thought. 
Zealots, self-mutilators be; 

Pleasure and joys are fraught. 

VI 

"But I have found a middle path 

Between these two extremes; 
'Tis free from passion, pain and wrath. 

And with enlightment gleams. 
It ope's the eyes, and leads the mind 

'Long Wisdom's higher road; 
It teaches all the way to find 

NirvUna's blest abode. 

VII 

"" This is the noble eight-fold path 
That doth Nirvana reach: — 
Right vietvs — sown not by force or wrath — 

High aims and kindly speech, 
Upright co?iduct, and next should be 

A harmless livelihood, 
.Firmness and Eighty Activity 

With Hoyiest Thought imbued. 



66 The Pagan's Poems. 

VIII 

''Here are tlie Four Great Truths of Woe^. 

Tour noble truths. This earth 
Is a loom of agony. Lo ! 

Pain Cometh first with birth ! 
And on and up thro' life doth wend, 

It dwelleth ever nigh; 
Pleasures scarce rise till they descend 

Like the gay butterfly. 

IX 

" Hot Youth hath pain, and Manhood's prime 

Drinketh of bitterness ! 
Gray are the locks, frosted by Time, 

But Age suffers no less ! 
Blissful is Love, but lovers die 

In youth, manhood, and age! 
Peaceful seemeth the azure sky^ 

But in it tempests rage. 

X 

'^'Fair is the em'rald robe of earth. 

But famines kiss its hem; 
And tho' the streamlets flow in mirth, 

Cold rocks their currents stem. 
Mankind calleth the mortal blest 

That findeth death in youth. 
Know ye, Nirvana giveth rest, 

Sorrotv^ the First Great Truth! 

XI 

" The Second Truth is Sorrow's Cause. 

Grief springeth from desire! 
Some transient shadow lights and draws' 

Passion's quick spark of fire. 
Now high it burns, but flames must endy. 

Embers smolder and die. 
And tho' this life be short 't will spend 

The griefs that underlie! 



Gautama. 67 

XII 

" Man brings himself the Second Death, 

Else it would elsewise be^ 
For Sorrow's cause, most times in youth 

Is planted, thence to be 
Man's sad companion evermore, 

Destined o'er him to reign 
Until he reaches Lethe's shore 

And finds the end of pain. 

XIII 

"Look to thyself! Wherefore thy grief? 

Knowest thou not it springs 
From passion or desire ? Relief 

At last Death only brings. 
Therefore control thyself! and sow 

The purest seeds in life ! 
If thou wouldst reap a harvest, know 

Weeds are produced of strife ! 

XIV 

" Sorrow comes oft with Soma juice; 

Often with sinful lust; 
And the gold shining in the sluice 

Is dressed in iron rust. 
None above sin do rise so high 

But what it can attaint 
Their snowy souls if it but try — 

Sin never groweth faint! 

XV 

" The Third Great Truth is Sorrow's Cure^ 

That which doth sorrow fraught. 
A blameless life, a strong heart pure; 

Compared, a pearl is naught ! 
Compared_, the dew-drop is as dross, 

The sun a tarnished thing; 
Let Truth and Right be not your loss, 

But to them ever dinar. 



The Pagan's Poems. 

XVI 

■" Conquer Thyself! This is the way; 

There is no fire like lust; 
No bond like hate; Evil doth lay 

Upon the heart like dust 
On travelers' robes; exertion shakes 

It off to earth again ! 
Exert thyself — shake off the flakes 

Of sin, and live as man. 

XVII 

"Listen! no snare is like deceit; 

No river like desire; 
No deer as swift as slander's feet; 

No flame like passion's fire! 
Earth hath no depths like error's sea; 

No dross like envy's pelf; 
No child of misery like he 

Who deifies himself! 

XVIII 

" Honor thy faith, and slander not 

The faith of other men! 
Each hath a sep'rate life and lot — 

Some hills, and some a fen ! 
Speak truth; do not to anger yield; 

Give when thou hast to give; 
Let thy home be a sunny field; 

Live^ and let others live ! 

XIX 

"Happiness is the sweetest song; 

Patience the greatest prayer; 
And of a million sermons long^ 

Truth is the fairest of fair! 
Quietness o'ercomes anger's might. 

And liberality, greed ! 
Fraternity supplies man's right; 

Freedom, a boundless need! 



Gautama. 69 

XX 

"Health is the best of Nature's gifts; 

Trusts the best relatives; _ 
He is of noblest mind who lifts 

Up other where he lives. 
Good men shine from afar like mounts 

Grilded with sunny light; 
Bad men are hid, like frozen founts^ 

Or arrows shot by night! 

XXI 

" Here are the Difficulties, ten, 

Along the Noble Path; 
Ten fetters to be broke by man 

Ere sweet Nirvana hath 
Her portals ope'd. The First of these 

Is like the robber's pelf — 
The fruit of mighty not right — hear, please, 

Delusion of thyself I 

XXII 

"While man his time doth occupy 

Chasing the bauble gay 
Of Self, thinking to satisfy 

A craving heart with play, 
Thinking himself a thing apart, — 

A candle burning dim 
Is more. There is without his heart 

No Noble Path for him ! 

XXIII 

'"''Doubt is the Second Fetter; know 

Ye must accept the truth! 
Let not your mind leave truth, and go 

Against the ways of youth. 
Belief in Rites is Fetter Third; 

Avoid the priests and powers! 
No prayers, no chants, no rites are heard 

Within Nirvana's bowers. 



70 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXIV 

" The Fourth and Fifth are Hate and Lust- 

Ill-will is bitter, wrong! 
Bodily passions are as dust, 

Muddying streams along. 
Three stages won: the Fourth is given, 

Yet in the fourth abide 
The Love of Life^ Desire for Heaven, 

Error^ Self-praise^ and Pride. 

XXV 

" The fetters broke — the sins all slain — 

Then is the vict'ry thine ! 
Then dieth woe, then endeth pain, 

Then Kharma's glories shine. 
Finding the universe his home. 

Himself like drop of dew. 
Four stages won, the man is come 

Nirvana's verge unto. 

XXVI 

■''' NiryIi^a, is' the Fourth Great Truth ! 

The Nohle Path ends here; 
Here is no age; here is no youth; 

Here is no fate or fear. 
Ye may not laugh, ye will not weep, 

Or bend 'neath sorrow's load; 
But ye shall sink in endless sleep 

Within this blest abode. 

XXVII 

■" Fair is the dew-drop on the leaf, 

It sparkles in the sun, 
Tho' its existence is but brief, 

Life hath no purer one. 
Brighter than gold, fairer than pearls, 

No diamond rivals this ! 
Tho' crystal queen of nether worlds, 

Nirvana purer is. 



Gautama. 71 

XXVIII 

" Bright is the sunbeam f aUing sweet 

On beaut'ous lakes and flowers, 
Kissing earth, as when lovers meet 

In the soft twilight hours. 
Breathing to earth the breath of love, 

Glad'ning the earth with light; 
But know: NirvUna stands above. 

The sum of all delight! 

XXIX 

■" Sweet is the fragrance of the flowers 

That in the jungle grow. 
Lading with incense leafy bowers. 

Tender as flakes of snow. 
The Sudras pluck and happy are, 

Tho' bearing life's heft load. 
But there is something sweeter far, — 

Nirvana's blest abode! 

XXX 

^'Blissful is love; its fruits are sweet. 

It binds with golden chains 
Of peace the world. When lovers meet 

The King of Kings it reigns. 
But would you reach a realm that hath 

A sweeter shrine to kiss? 
Receive the Truth, enter the Path, — 

Nirvana hath more bliss! 

XXXI 

"Joyful is rest; ye Sudras know 

That when 'tis eventide 
And toil is o'er, till morning's glow 

Ye can with rest abide. 
What is more joyful than this rest 

After the day's hard strife ? 
Te sink to slumber sore distressed, 

Awake with new-born life! 



72 The Pagan's Poems. 

XXXII 

'^This stirless sleep ye question not, ' 

But know it giveth joy, 
Makes ye forget your tireful lot. 

Strengthens your wife and boy. 
So when ye climb Life's mount of Woe,, 

And, wearied, reach its crest, 
If ye the Path have entered, know 

Nirvana giveth rest! 

XXXIII 

"After the midnight cometh morn; 
After the storm, a calm; 
After Love's hearth hath felt a thorn, 

It finds a soothing balm; 
After the wild beasts cometh men; 

After the turmoil, rest; 
After ye break the Fetters Ten, 
. Cometh Nirvana blest! 

XXXIII 

"Think not to dwell, starlike, apart 

From broad Humanity! 
Strive not to alienate your heart 

From those who are not free. 
For, tho' the birds reach lofty heights,, 

They seek the earth for rest! 
Wonld you enjoy sweetest delights? 

Enter Nirvd,na blest! 

XXXV 

"Scatter not rice! The gods that be 

Hear not the cries of men. 
Their rights or formulas! They see 

Only the where and when 
Of their own joy's fulfillment; they 

Are parasites which cling 
Close nnto them who go joy's way. 

And feel not sorrow's stino^. 



Gautama. 

XXXVI 

" But scatter noble words and deeds 

To parents, fellows, friends! 
Plant in Life's garden purest seeds, 

And strive to noblest ends! 
Sweeter is Love and Law than Might 

Who to Nirvana draws, 
To rest at last through endless night. 

Should keep these five great laws. 

XXXVII 

" Take not the life of man or beast; 

Not e'en thy life is thine. 
Shun revelli?ig or tvasteful feast, 

Shun Soma juice or wine. 
Bear no false-witness. Slander not. 

Give., if thou hast to give; 
And steal not of another's lot; 

And icith thy own wife live. 
XXX vni 
"Enter the Path! iWr««wa sweet, 

Offers its glories blest! 
Enter the Path ! Thy tired feet 

Forever shall have rest! 
Enter the Path! Here tumults end, 

And like the tinkling bells, 
Thy joys shall swell as they attend 

To where the Silence dwells!" 

XXXIX 

. These truths long years the Teacher taught 

Thro'out the Grunga's vale. 
Showing how grief and sin is fraught, 

How like a coat of mail 
A brave heart is; how of the whole 

Each man is but a part; 
A drop in myriad waves that roll 

'Tween heaven and hell's hard mart. 
6 



74 The Pagan's Poems. 

XL 

Taught how each man forges the chains 

Which bind him close and fast; 
How, by our errors, all these pains 

Are fed till life hath passed 
To the domain where silence dwells. 

Where passions burn no more, 
Where the dark tide rises and swells 

On Lethe's silent shore. 

XLI 

Then entered they the Path divine, 

Ila, Rahula, Buddh, 
Where Kharma's glories ever shine, 

Where passion sleeps subdued. 
And crores and crores who heard him preach. 

Entered the Noble Path. 
E'en now the millions strive to reach 

The joys Nirvana hath. 

XLII 

Call these mere dogmas if you will, 

The precepts of this Prince 
Are simply peerless ; they will fill 

As few before or since 
Have filled all the pages of Thought 

With pictures brilliant, pure; 
And though the priests with rites have fraught 

His teachings, they endure. 

XLIII 

And, notwithstanding priests who lied. 

And warped this great belief; 
Who have the Teacher deified. 

Proclaiming him the chief 
Of all the Buddhas, high or low. 

This much is true, is fair: 
By his works he, himself, did show 

Noble beyond compare. 



Gautama. 75 

XLIV 

His great achievememt stands alone. 

The faith he founded stands 
Propped by no bloody sword or throne 

Built by no lawless hands. 
No juggling miracles he wrought, 

Aweing the simple mind; 
But taught the grandest truth e'er taught — 

Co7npassion to mankind. 

XLV 

His doctrines did no martyrs slay, 

No inquisitions build; 
They led no warlike hosts to fray, 

No prison dungeons filled. 
They did not say, " Believe or die !" 

Proffered no tyrannies; 
They caused no gallant souls to fly 

For refuge o'er the seas. 

XL VI 

No tyrant monarch bolstered them, 

They kept no slaves in chains; 
They kissed not power's purple hem; 

They crazed no human brains. 
But like a glittering star benign. 

They gave all Asia light; 
They shed a ray of Truth divine 

Thro' Error's veil of night. 

XLVII 

They showed the falsity of castes; 

That men are equal born; 
The uselessness of prayers and fasts; 

How priests have robbed and shorn 
The ignorant with juggling rites; 

How man may doff grief's weary load. 
And gain the sum of all delight — 

Nirvana's blest abode. 



76 The Pagan's Poems. 

xLVin 
And when the Tathagato died, 

Ere yet he sank to rest, 
'Tis said his loved disciples cried 
"Thou art of gods the best!" 
"Nay, brethren, I'm no god," he said^ 
'^ Nor am I ivisest Buddh; 
I am no more than all can be 

Whose passions sleep subdued!" 

XLIX 

So died the Teacher, humble Buddh, 

Pitiful, noble prince. 
He left no words to be construed. 

Like some before and since 
Have done, proclaiming themselves gods. 
^ But Error's waves have brought 

Up priests - — base theologic bawds — 

Who warped the truths he taught. 

L 

Let Islam enjoy Paradise; 

The Gallilean, Heaven; 
Let Pythagoras' soul arise. 

And to the beast be given; 
Let Pluto, Plato, Socrates, , 

Their several realms invest. 
But sleep, thou compeer of all these,, 

Within Nirvana blest! 

Lake Shore, III., Feb. 10— Mar. 18, 1883. 



(Sl^gic^ 



SACRED TO THE MEMOEIES OF 



THE GOOD, THE TRUE, and THE BEAUTIFUL, 



BY THE PAGAN". 



SUSANNAH B. COLWELL. 

Born 1800. Died 1884. 



Composed at the request of her granddaughter Miss Lulu G. Kepford. 



Fourscore and four long years a barque, 

With love and mercy freighted, 
Sailed tliro' Life's shadows, light and dark. 

To where Death's ebb tide waited; 
She touched the shores of Charity 

Where Hope's sweet star was shining,— 
Her sails spread free o'er Sorrow's sea. 

And rescued the repining. 

For years this barque made sad hearts glad, 

And bore her burden bravely; 
She sweetly sailed, where waves were mad, 

And 'fore the gay breeze gravely. 
She sailed in peace across Life's wave — 

Above Hope's star shone brightly — 
Death's waters gave her mate a grave. 

No more her sails bent lightly. 

At last this barque of Love so sweet 

Sought refuge o'er the sea: 
She sought the port where waters beat 

The shores of Eternity. 
Farewell, sweet barque ! A sweet farewell ! 

Farewell, sweet streamer's flying! 
We loved the well, ah, could we tell — 

Ah, me! From us she's dying. 



80 \ The Pagan's Poems. 

This is tlie liistory of other barques — 

Barques that with Love were laded, 
But Death, who loveth shiuiiioj marks, 

Breathed on their sails — they faded 
Away from the ken of loving eyes, 

Away from hearts half broken, — 
To Paradise, where silence lies, 

And grief is never spoken. 

That Law, which mankind holds divine. 

Tells us the star's soft splendor 
Ere noonday fades. The flow'ring vine, 

With leaf and tendril tender, 
High up the rugged oak may climb. 

Or creep where shades are denser. 
But lo! the rime doth come in time 

To snatch the blossom censor. 

Life opes the gates for Love to-day. 

Death enters them to-morrow; 
Love dines with Bliss along the way. 

At even sups with Sorrow. 
Then farewell Love! Yet not farewell, 

Here is thy empire fleeting, 
But who can tell? our loved may swell 

In other realms a greeting. 

Lake Shore, III. 



WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

BoKN 1811. Died 1884. 



Silent is the silver tongue that spake for Eight and Liberty! . 

—Peoria Journal. 



Yea! Silent is the silver tongue 
That oft for human freedom wrung 

Tears from a demon's heart! 
That upheld Martyr Lovejoy's name — 
Reddened the mob's pale face with shame, 

In world-famed Boston's mart. 
A tongue — bold, eloquent and free — 
That spake for Right and Liberty! 

Now let the franchised slave go weep 
Upon the grave wherein doth sleep 

One of his saviors bold! 
Go drop a tear upon the grave 
Of him, who did the rabble brave. 

Who scorned the slaver's gold — 
Who shielded Truth with bravery, 
And spake for Right and Liberty! 

He, who was beaten by the mob 

Because — great heart! — he would not rob 

From Truth's fair diadem, 
From deep-souled Pity^s treasury. 
For cruel, heartless Tyranny, 

A single shining gem. 
Because he battled Slavery, 
And spake for Right and Liberty! 



The Pagan's Poems. 

Great heart ! What agony it felt ! 
How bitter Wrong caused it to melt 

For his dark friend and brother. 
Not brother in the proud world's eyes^ 
But brother., bound by kindred ties, 

Sons of a common mother, 
Who bore no braver son than he 
Who spake for Right and Liberty! 

No more his eloquence will hold. 
With invisible chains of gold, 

Spell-bound the mighty throngs. 
No more those passioned lips shall tell 
That love unfathomed! Nor shall dwell 

They more on human wrongs! 
For locked in Death's embrace is he 
Who spake for Right and Liberty! 

He, boldly meek and humbly brave, 
Searching a lifetime found — a grave 

Brimming with human tears. 
Tears melting from the freedman's cheeky 
Voicing the grief he could not speak — 

So much that name endears — 
Hoping, in death, with him to be. 
Who spake for Right and Liberty! 

His was a hand that raised the weak — 
That wiped the tears from Sorrow's cheek- 

His tongue plead Freedom's cause. 
To publish his brave thoughts he dared. 
So little for fierce threats he cared. 

He'd ne'er suppress a clause. 
Tho' foes on every hand saw he, 
He spake for Right and Liberty! 



Elegies. 83 

But give again to Mother Earth 

That which is hers; for Death and Birth 

Are arbitrary kings 
Who simply rule with changeless laws — 
Merely effect following cause. 
There never was a life so fit 
But what Death has encompased it 

With his far-reaching wings. 

Then drop your tears and flowers free, 
A tale of love told beauteously — 
Expressing grateful love for he 
Who spake for Right and Liberty! 

Lake Shore, III., Feb. 6, 1884. 



ETHA McREYNOLDS. 

Born 18—. Died 18—. 



Composed at the request of her sister Stella. 



Is Etha gone, so loved and sweet, 

So bright, so young in years, 
The patter of whose tiny feet 

Was music to our ears? 
Are those brown eyes, once filled with mirth, 

Glazed by Death's ruthless hand, 
No more to see the sights of earth. 

Divine, sublime and grand? 



84 The Pagan's Poems. 

Has she, the goddess of our home, 

Passed o'er the silent way. 
Where settles Death's eternal gloom 

After Life's transcient day? 
Oh! can it be, in spite of fears. 

This casket strewn with flowers. 
Bedewed with Sorrow's briny tears. 

Contains this gem of ours? 

The veil is rent ! Be still my heart ! 

Oh thou. All-knowing One! 
Where'er Thou be, whate'er Thou art. 

We say, ''Thy will he done I " 
We know the sweetest flowers fade 

Under thy heartless frost, 
But morning's gleam and evening's shade 

Whisper " Theij are not lost ! " 

Etha escaped our mortal ken. 
But memory holds her dear; 

Hope whispers we will see her when 
Life's autumn leaves are sear. 

And when in Unknown's mighty deep 
We sink the line of Thought, 

We find this solace — still we weep — 
''''She's gone hut not forgot!" 

But not forgot? Then why shall tears 

Fall as the summer rain ? 
For she is freed from griefs and fears 

That make a world of pain. 
And if Christ Jesus taught the truths 

The kindred spirits vain, 
Will pass thro' brighter, purer youth, 

And meet our loved again. 

Lake Shore, III., Sept. 3, 1883. 



BEN. H. HILL. 

BOKN IS—. Died 1882. 



A nation mourns to-day for lier lost son, 

As sadly fall the tear-drops on his grave; 
But still the grandest rill must ripple down; 

The foam, sometime, must touch the ocean wave, 
The birds that carol 'mong the orchard trees — 

The oaks that tower o'er the laurel van — 
The daisies sweet that blossom on the leas — 

All have a time to perish ! Why not man ? 

Alas! the reaper Death will heed no prayer^ 

Or bend to soothing words or tender glance; 
Or cheer us in our moments of despair, 

When those we love have fallen 'fore his lance. 
But in the presence of the painless grave. 

Whose depths give unto all eternal rest. 
We dare honor the noble and the brave^ 

And carve their name upon the roll of blest. 

The South has lost a brave devoted son; 

America, a loving, gallant maai; 
Grand Gorgian! thy earthly race is won. 

And Blue and Gray — friends — lead thy funeral van. 
Thy name shall glorify the Union's dome; 

Her future sons thy nobleness applaud. 
Thy parting word's to us — " J% ahnost home ! " 

Are verified: at home with Nature's God! 

Bishop, III., Sept. 21, 1882. 



LOUIS a. WIEMER. 

BOEN 1877. Died 1881. 



Farewell Louie ! you may meet 
Friends and faces loved the best; 

Happy voices you will greet 
In the kingdom of the blest. 

You may meet, where angels roam 
In the land of crystal dew, 

Companions of your earthly home, 
" Just above the melting blue." 

Farewell Louie! Death's cold chill, 
With its pain and anguish deep, 

Ne'er again your heart will fill, 
Ne'er again will break your sleep. 

Sleep dear Louie! Life is o'er! 
Endless rest is now for you — 

Infinite rest forever more, 
"Just above the melting blue!" 

Farewell! Love may pass away 

Like a melting summer cloud; 
Grief may deck Joy's tomb to-day. 

Hiding you, whom Love endowed. 
But, dear Louie, Mem'ry's chain 

Binds our yearning hearts to you, 
And we hope we may again 

Meeting beyond "the melting blue!" 

:Bishop, III., Aug. 2, 1881. 



JACOB KOCH, Sr. 

BOEN 1794. Died 1877. 



'^'' He is dead ! " His children say — 

" He has gone the silent way. 
All that life and love endowed, 
Passed us like a summer cloud. 
Long the earth has felt his tread, 
Now he slumbers: — he is dead! 

•"Death drank deep! The fount is dry, 
Damped the hair, and glazed the eye; 
Pulseless now the once strong arm; 
Broken now life's mystic charm." 
Sad the words his children said — 
Words of sorrow — "He is dead!" 

■" Life was kind, for he was old 
Ere Death called him to the fold. 
We expect the brooks to freeze 
When the frost disrobes the trees. 
Death has come," a neighbor said^ 
And bereft you — He is dead!" 

"Leaves burst forth, then fade away; 
Flowers blossom, then decay; 
Grasses by the sparkling stream 
Wither 'neath the sunny beam. 
Love has left you: He is dead! 
Farewell love!" a poet said. 



The Pagan's Poems. 

"Farewell, love!" the widow cries, 
'Til we meet in Paradise. 
You were all of life to me, 
I tlie vine and you the tree. 
Could this broken heart but tell 
How I loved thee; love, farewell! 

" Let the Lethe drown from me 
Idols of my memory; 
Death has come and we must part, 
Farewell, idol of my heart. 
That my love hath deified. 
Fareivell, love ! " the widow cried. 



MARY A. KOCH. 

BoEN 1803. Died 1883. 



Subside, wild grief! nor longer wage, 

Altho' our hearts be sore. 
Death 's touched the tired heart of age, 

And mother lives no more! 
Our fears are felt, our fount of grief 

Bursts forth in briny tears, 
Altho' death gives a sweet relief 

To one of fourscore years. 

She knew not all of truth sublime, 

Beyond, claimed not to see; 
But she had hoped thro'out all time 

A " future state " might be. 
She found sweet solace in the 'hope 

That souls from "bodies free 
Would purer, fairer, brighter ope' 

To immortality! 



Elegies. 89 



Like one who sees a ship set sail, 

She stood upon the shore, 
Resigned, not knowing when the gale 

Would waft her spirit o'er. 
Unconscious that the painful world 

Would slip from out her hands; 
Her vessel touch, with all sails furled, 

The unknown haven's sands. 

These tidings sink deep in the heart — 

Can it be mother's gone 
To henceforth, starlike, dwell apart 

From us in the unknown? 
The yearnings of a loving heart 

Goes with thee o'er the sea 
That holds these lives of ours apart 

From all eternity! 

Bishop, III., Oct. 5, 1883. 



EPITAPH ON THOMAS PAINE. 



Here lieth he who once loved friends, 

Wished no ill fortune to his foes; 
Who believed that happiness depends 
Upon the light that honor throws; 
That an honest man can happiest be 
When freeing mankind from slavery. 

Tehee AN, III., June 20, 18S2. 



EL HERMOSA CAPITAL. 



Gen. Joseph Hooker. Born 1813. Died 1879. 



Since Csesar crossed the Rubicon, 

No nobler man has been famed 
Than " El Hermosa Capitan^''' 

By dark-eyed senoritas named. 
A man of soldierly bearing, 

Whose name rival's stars, howe'er bright - 
A chief of limitless daring, 

Invincible ever in fight. 



'^fc)' 



A temper of the serenest, 

A friendship that no one debars; 
Showing respect for the meanest. 

As well as for generals' stars. 
'Twas he in the battle's fierce fight, 

Where bloodshed and carnage ran wild. 
Whose bravery cheered on the right. 

And marked him as victory's child. 

He led the boys on at Ringgold, 

Kenesaw and Williamsburg's field, 
And up Lookout mountain he rolled. 

Forcing the proud rebels to yield. 
At Fair Oakes and Resaca stood 

An adamant "rock of ages;" 
The name of this hero imbued. 

Honors our history's pages! 



Elegies. 91 

But ever-triumphant are few, 

The number of vanquished many; 
Yet unto Joe Hooker is due 

Honor, if due unto any. 
He was patriotic and brave. 

Of true and honest opinions; 
He fought the Republic to save, 

And conquer secession's minions. 

He strained every nerve he possessed, 

And battled with all might and main^ 
Risking his life with the rest, 

Chancellorville's battle to gain! 
But Vict'ry from his banner fled, 

For once he suffered defeat. 
And then leaving naught but his dead. 

Commanded a skillful retreat. 

The nation has heard his guns rattle. 

Beheld him brave many a strife. 
Shall defeat in that one fierce battle 

Bear away all the laurels of life? 
Bear off all the honor and glory 

That Hooker achieved in the past. 
And rob from those temples now hoary. 

Life's laurels, which not always last? 

Ingratitude, sycophant slave 

To envious passions of men, 
Why turn on the noble and brave. 

When the sands of life's almost ran ? 
Why rob him of merits hard-earned, 

When Time his locks has made hoary? 
When infinite rest's almost earned, 

Pilfer his jewels of glory? 



92 The Pagan's Poems. 

Nor does Time spare Hooker's platoon, 

For deatli lias borne tliousands away; 
Beneath tlie briglit beams of the moon 

They sleep, side by side, lifeless clay! 
Where Hooker, too, sought his last rest. 

While many wept tears on his scars. 
And mourned from the east to the west, 

As they laid him to sleep 'neath the stars. 

Then sleep. Hooker, free from all care! 

For Life, with its phantoms and fears. 
Brings you no more carnage or war; 

A nation is deluged in tears. 
Brave bearer of honorable scars, 

Thy name, thrice immortalized, lives! 
The shining gates Justice unbars; 
'"''Fame!'' 's wrote on the chaplet she gives. 

Sleep, soldier! Thy warfare is o'er! 

The tomb is a haven of rest ! 
Thy battles are needed no more 

To save the land thou lovest best. 
And needless now, too, is thy sword. 

Which led on thy brave grenadiers, 
Who braved rebel guns at thy word. 

And welcomed thy presence with cheers. 

Farewell, then, thou bravest of brave! 

Love's glory and memory are thine! 
'Neath the flag thou foughtest to save. 

No kinsmen in slavery pine ! 
But they are free, in southern glens. 

To woo and win, and tell the story! 
ilnd like a shaft Freedom ascends. 

To mark thy words and deeds of glory 1 

Prairie Home, III., Aug. 19, 18S1. 



"^efen^e of ^ngcr^oll: 

BEING- A FULL ACCOUNT OP THE GREAT TKIAL OF 

COL. R. G. INGERSOLL 

BEPOKE THE COURT OP HEAVEN, BY HIS UNWORTHY COUNSELOR 

THE PAGAN. 



Thou Shalt not hearken unto a prophet or a dreamer of dreams. 

Beut. xiii, 3. 

The simple belleveth every word; hut the prudent man looketh well to 

his going. Frov. xiv, i3. 



DEFENSE OF INGEESOLL. 



Why do the heathen rage and people imagine a vain thing? 

Ps. ii, 1. 

For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope; for a living dog 
is better than a aead lion. Eccl. ix, k. 



I dreamed great Robert died, and I to Heaven 

Did follow him to plead his woeful case; 
He having asked, and my consent been given, 
We sought to meet Jehovah face to face, — 
To see if love^ his mercy sweet did savor. 
And, too, if mortal man could win his favor. 

I, loving Robert and the ways he taught. 

Passed with him thro' the sombre vale of Death, 
And bravely held his ulster while he fought 

The Prince of Darkness; and with bated breath 
Passed with him thro' blind Milton's Purgatory 
To where the Court of Heaven sat in glory. 

Spacious the court — noble the mien of him 

Who sat as judge of all the world and men. 
Around were ranged sad souls from ages dim, 

Late sprung from hill and dale, from sea and fen, 
All fearing judgment — waiting feverishly — 
Grouping in spectral and ghostly phantasy. 



) The Pagan's Poems. 

Here sat tlie patient Job: his troubles o'er, 

His sad eyes bent on him who took his lands, 
His happy boys and girls, making him sore. 
That he might swear his soul in Satan's hands; 
Then with a look of triumph, intense gleamed they. 
As on the form of Nick's "right bower" beamed they. 

For Satan's deputy stood, chains in hand. 

Waiting to bind those souls the Lord would curse, 
And drag them off to Hades' warmer land. 
And in its molten lake their frames immerse. 
For all the wicked, worldly men and ladies 
Were promised to his boss — the King of Hades. 

Here sat the compassionate, pitiful Buddh: 

Who early sought the truth, but found it not. 
Who wandered many years with heart subdued 
In search of simple truth., but vainly sought; > 
Who from the pureness of his heart divining. 
Gave Asia that great " light which still is shining." 

Near sat the Gallilean, wrapt in tho't. 

With spear-mark in his side, and bleeding scars 
Of cruel nails within his palms; so wrought 
By frenzied bigots. O'er his head three stars 
Gleamed, bathing his ringlets with a radiant glow 
As Mary did his feet centuries ago. 

There, cross-legged, sat Mahomet. No fierce band 

Of Arabs now stood by with gleaming swords 
To force Al Koran's law at his command. 

Or carve on human breasts his glowing words. 
He hid his Koran when they counted noses. 
But kept his eye on much-mistaken Moses. 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 97 

Here sat King David; near, the Hittite's wife, 

Batlislieba, whose fond eyes rested on her lord, 
Who, thro' David's perfidy, lost his life. 
Uriah, leaning on his broken sword 
Gazed on His Honor, then David, sighing, 
"If right be mine, to Hades Dave goes flying." 

There, the apostate Julian talked with Paine, 

Gazing with admiration deep, intense. 
Upon the books he'd on the table lain, 

Two volumes : Rights of Man and Common Sense. 
Here, the Third Innocent, with nervous fingers, 
Leaves thro' Rosseaii's Confession while he lingers. 

Close by the Clerk's desk Calvin scowled 

Upon Michael Servetus — stake-burnt, faint; 
Beneath the desk Elisha's bruins growled, 

Warning to boys who'd joke a scant haired saint. 
Loud Voltaire laughed, when him gray Humboldt twitted 
Abont recanting when the world he quitted. 

High on his own throne of grace sat Judge of all. 
Low fell his gaze, and seeing us he said: 
"Clerk! call the ease of R. G. Ingersoll — 
That infidel who hath a legion led. 
And we will give him o'er to his ' receiver,' 
As precedent for every unbeliever. 

" Iconoclast of holy things, and priest 

Of nature, thou, by the laws of God, shall be 
Given to Satan for all time, at least; 

For know thou art his rightful property. 
Indicted you stand beneath the Bible's ban. 
Read the indictment, Clerk ! " Thusly it ran: 



^ The Pagan's Poems. 

Be it known I R. Gr. Ingersoll now stands 

Indicted oft for breaking oft the law 
Given Israel thro' servant Moses' hand — 
For Mossy had a most prodigious pay, — 
He hath defied the law of Great Jehovah 
By raising Hades when he's " half-seas-ovah." 

He also raised some other self-made gods, 

Knowing full well the First Great Laiv he broke ; 
That the said Ingersoll did take all odds. 
And openly of Heaven and Hades spoke ! 
And hath rebelled against the law of Moses, 
Holding women were sweeter than June roses. 

Yea! knelt before the sinful siren maids, 

Worshiping each and every one he saw 

In brightest sunshine or in sombre shade. 

Knowing full well he broke the Second Laiv. ' 
Bift he the Law hath ever been defying, 
Never before to win God's grace been trying. 

That the said Ingersoll hath blasphemed God 

E'er and anon, on Sabbath's holy day. 
And ever in such wicked paths he trod, 

Casting of laws the Third and Fourth away. 
The Fifth he broke in giving no honor, when 
He knew Jehovah was father to all men. 

That the said Bob hath, by his words and wit, 

By flowery eloquence and flow of rhyme. 
Cheated the hangman's noose by robbing it; 
Who averts penalty commits a crime! 
And he committeth crime who is crime shielding. 
Therefore he broke the Slxth^ — and stands unyielding. 



Defense of Ihgebsoll. 99 

That he liatli broken these, it proved can be, 

By reading his " Oration on the Gods,'' 
Or ''Ghosts,'' or ''ShiUs;' or ''Hell," or "Liberty,'' 
(What mighty peas he shelled from puny pods!) 
And hath declared right underneath our noses. 
The chief of all mistaken men is Moses, 

That the aforesaid Bob — so styled on earth — 

Shielded the " Star-route s," committed crimes, 

Breaking the eighth, and ninth, and tenth, in mirth, 
No less than several baker's-dozen times. 

For they did and , and in court fought it. 

Coveted cash that was not theirs^ and got it. 

That the said IngersoU his sword hath drawn 

To free the slaves that were by Grod ordained 
To toil for man; and called on brain and brawn 
To help free limbs which the Almighty chained. 
That he hath denied the king's authority, 
Claiming for serfmen superiority. 

That he hath uttered treason 'gainst the throne 

Of the Supreme; and insurrection sought 
To aggrandize; and hath denounced alone 

All creeds and faiths, and all beliefs, and taught 
There never was evolved for mortal man 
A creed of supernatural origin. 

That the said Robert hath from time to time 

Held in contempt your Honor and the court. 
Defying and outlawing laws sublime — 

Those laws which do alone vile sinners thwart. 
Even unto death did violate the law. 
Cursing it, defying it, et cetera. 



100 The Pagan's Poems. 

Judge : 
What say'st thou, prisoner — guilty, or no? 
Ingersoll : 
Your Honor, if it please the court, I pray 
My counsel 's here, with evidence to show 
My innocence. Sir, I have naught to say. 
I feel, your Honor, my counsel will acquit me, 
And silence on my part- doth most befit me. 

Judge to Pagan : 
'Tis well. But who art thou who would defend 

Before this solemn court this Infidel? 
Think'st thou Jehovah's mighty laws to rend. 
And save thy wicked client's soul from hell? 
Art thou with holy laws so well acquainted. 
That thou canst keep thy client with the sainted? 

Pagan : 
If 't please the court, The Pagan I am named; 

I am no lawyer great, but fain would be. 
And tho' of being vain I am so blamed, 
I feel my case will set my client free. 
Knowing a little law, and much compassion, 
I enter in this case in legal fashion. 



Those of mankind who know me, know me well, 

A loving soul, that loves this beloved Bob; 
Who would go with him down to gaping Hell, 
And, if it needs be, him from Satan rob. 
Satan : 
Ha! ha! then wilt thou Pagan vain? Here's wi' thee. 
For I know well I'll get ye both soon, prithee! 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 101 

Buddha to Pagan: 
Art tliou he wlio called me " wisest, best? " 

Called me "world-honored, compassionate Buddh?" 
. Extolled again the virtues east and west 
Of him who many human hearts subdued? 
To you my heart doth send a joyful pgeon! 

Christ : 
And art thou he who called me '^ Grallilean ? " 



Mahomet : 
Aye! Art thou he who called me "Arab swart,, 

Merelj'' a wandering son of Ishmael?" 
And hast thou come to mock me here in court, 
Thou maligning dog of an Infidel? 
Thou callest me a "fanatic pretender!'' 
I'll have thy blood, thou Infidel defender ! 

Judge : 
Order! Peter, bring Heaven's Attorney in 

To help this Pagan panel a jury; 
Satan may help — and may the best man win I 
Be cautious, friend Satan^ check thy fury. 
This young " limb of the law " may have a fly chance 
To beat this Nick out of his inheritance. 



Is Elihu, Heaven's Attorney, here?' 
Elihu: 
Here ! if it please the Court, ready for work ! 
Satan : 
And we will have enough to do ne'er fear. 
Judge : 
Then why waste words? Call in the talesman, clerk. 
{aside) 
By that set look in the Pagan's face I see 
Satan must fight hard, or lose hie property. 



102 The Pagan's Poems. 

Clerli. : 
Fear! 

Fear : 
Here! 

Satan : 
Is your name Fear? 

Fear : 

It is my name. 
Satan : 
If't please the court I will accept the man; 
Elihu : 
Aye! Your Honor, we will accept the same. 
Pagan : 
But, if it please the Court, by Law's direction, 
I do object to him! 

Judge : 
State your objection! 



Pagan : 
This same Fear is my client's enemy. 

For him my client often hath exposed, 
Warning mankind to shun his company; 

And, knowing this, as well might be supposed. 
He will stand prejudiced against my client. 
And as a juror meet the Law defiant. 



Judge : 
The court sustains you for this once. Call on! 
Clerk : 
Liberty! Equality! Compassion! 
Satan : 
Your Honor, I object to this last one — 
He, knowingly divideth mercy's ration 
^Twixt law and weakness; siding with the weakest 
E'en tho' they err, if they appear the meekest. 



Defense of Ingebsoll. * 103 

Now I am one who to the law will stick, 

And I do know Compassion here, of old; 
Know that he is unstable, conscience-quick, 
And easily won by words of painful mold. 
I want this jury just and law-abiding. 
Proof against honied words or caustic chidinff. 



Pagan : 
Your Honor! If I may just here intrude — 
Satan : 
Nay! Interrupt me not 'til I am done! 
Grant me. Your Honor, this one boon: exclude 
Compassion now, and I am done. Thy son 
Is gviilty sure, and would be glad, thou knowest^ 
To e'en secure a jury of the lowest. 

Pagan : 
Your Honor! 

Judge : 

Proceed! If thou hast aught to say. 
Pagan : 
If't please the Court, do not exclude this man; 
Satan hath shown no cause so just it may 
Of right debar him from the jury^s ban. 
Had he a/oe to Law shown this Compassion, 
'T were well ! But he's shown nothing of this fashion. 



He only showed Compassion hath a heart — 

That he is pitiful, forgiving, kind, 
And with the weaker plays the nobler part. 
But where would he a better juror find, 
If sweet words win him? There's little chance for me 
Against this King of Cunning — of Subtlety! 



104 The Pagan's Poems. 

Elihu : 
If 't please tlie Court, sustain my colleague there, 

And oblige me; tlie Law must have its all. 
We must not yield too mucli in being fair, 
Or cheat friend Satan out of IngersolL 
Since IngersoU made preachers pay for prancing, 
Why let him fee the Devil for his dancing. 

Judge : 

Compassion is excused. Sweet Clerk^ call on ! 

Clerk : 

Love! Virtue! Self-denial! Ignorance! 

Pagan : 

Your Honor! I object to the last one; 

Will reasons give, if you'll give me a chance. 
Judge : 
Shake out some reason just, and try and make it 
More solid than the shell from which you shake it. 

Pagan : 
Thanks (?) Of all who have my client villified. 

This Ignorance is chief! He went among 
The high and low, mighty and mean, and lied^ 
And tried to bury Bob, "unwept, unsung." 
Of law and evidence he knows so little 
That Justice doth protest 'gainst his admittal. 

If Ave admit this man — 

Satan : 

May't please the Court ! 
Pagan : 
I have the floor just now — 
Satan : 

Which I will get! 
Pagan : 

But you will not, while Pagan holds the fort, 
Get anything, Sir Nick — 
Satan : 

I'll get you yet ! 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 105 

Pagan : 
And if you do you'll let me go most gladly! 

Satan : 
Yes, I suppose you'd spoil the pottage badly. 

EUhu : 
Will the Court please sustain, or not sustain, 

One of these de'ils and let the case proceed ; 
Let Ignorance go out, or in; 'tis plain 

That neither Law nor Bob his aid do need. 
We have seen enough of him to prove, withal, 
He's foe to Law as well as Ingersoll! 

And grievously hath he the Law misled. 
By giving out for law what is not law; 
And oftentimes to Truth Error did wed, 
Producing offspring which no Grod e'er saw. 
He always, for a saint, a sinner poses, 
Making a million more mistakes than Moses. 

Judge : 
I see no reason why he should go out^ — 
Enter the jury. Ignorance. Call on ! 
Clerk : 
Justice! Morality! Charity! Doubt! 
Satan : 
Your Honor! Charity's Compassion's son. 
And having his father's failings, I object, 
For he would hang the jury I suspect. 

He, like his father, of 't the law o'erstepped, 

A foolish concience whim to satisfy; 
And hath, in bendmg law, proved an adept,, 
E'en but to heed a starving harlot's cry. 
No matter how vile is the beggar's station, 
Charity always dealeth him a ration. 
8 



106 The Pagan's Poems. 

Pagan : 
If 't please the Court ! A word ! The seeming tart 
Wisdom of this learned devil hath no weight — 
Because a man hath pity in his heart, 
'Tho he hath seldom in the jury sate, 
Shall he be powerless to justice render? 
Shall we exclude him 'cause his heart is tender? 

Judge : 
Enough! Enough! The Pagan we sustain. 
Call on my gentle clerk — 
Clerk : 

Hypocrisy ! — 
Pagan : 
If 't please the Court, we do object again. 
And with the Court's consent, will willingly 
Substantiate the reasons we shall proffer 
Why he should not mete law to e'en a scoffer! 

Judge : 
Proceed ! 

Pagan : 
This villian with a pious face. 
Has in his heart not one grand principle; 
Tho' he pretends to be endowed with grace. 
Thou know'st he stands 'fore grace invincible. 
He praised this Bob for being brave, defiant^ 
Then spit upon the back of this, my client. 



He, to the widow at times money gave, 
But from her son exacted it again; — 
He whispered to the cringing coward knave 
"Thou art the hero of this sphere mundane !."- 
He said unto the fool, with tongue dissembling, 
'" All truth and wisdom 's in thy balance trembling." 



Defense of Ingeesoll. 107 

Beneath an honest cloak he robs his friends, 
And in the halls of Justice takes a bribe; 
Within Shame's gilded den he her defends, 
And with her at all decency doth gibe; 
But when he sitteth down at Virtue's table. 
He rails at Mistress Shame in manner able. 

He has, with tearful eye and mourning face. 

Knelt by the victim of his treachery 
And sent petitions to thy throne of grace 
In her behalf — begging mercy of Thee 
For the poor, sinful, miserable creature 
That loved him once, but now pulseless in feature. 

To those who knelt around he counsel gave^ — 
In quavering tones, with awe-inspiring look, 
Told how the rocks and shoals beneath Life's Avave 
Might be avoided, if they read thy book; 
But know, your Honor, the truth and pith of it: 
Himself hath never read one tith of it. 

He fleeced the flock entrusted to his care — 

Despoiled the lambs, and to the shambles drove, 
Pretending to lead them to pastures fair^ 
He led them to that sinful, shameful grove 
Where, over Virtue's verdure, evils showered, — 
Taint not the jury with this canting coward! 

Sow, if you will, the cockle with the wheat — 

Grow worthless smut upon the tassling corn — 
Plant subtle poisons in the blossoms sweet. 
And in the human heart a caustic thorn — 
But in the name of gods — from Peace to Fury, 
Place not this slimy serpent in the jury. 



108 The Pagan's Poems. 

Elihu : 
If 't please the Court, the same boon do I crave^ 

For I have seen enough of this vampire 
To want him out the jury — in his grave. 
He is a low, two-faced, dissembling liar, 
Who eyer sides with those that are the strongest, 
Or they who work the least, and pray the longest! 



I've seen him stand within God's holy house 
With face as honest-looking as the moon. 
Calling upon the moral folk to rouse. 

And help him battle the accursed saloon,— 
I found him, after he'd dismissed the people. 
Dead drunk within the shadow of the steeple. 



I have seen him, weak-kneed, two-faced poltroon. 

Hang round and boast of all his bravery. 
But when he walked^ alone, home 'neath the moon^ 
He walked in constant fear, lest each sound be 
The footstep of some ghost, or gnome, or demon, 
Seeking the form that ever felt Fear's tremon. 

Judge : 
' Hypocrisy's dismissed. Call ! 
Clerk : 

Reason ! Time !• 
Elihu : 

If 't please the Court, for once I do object I 
For he who lifts the low, sinks the sublime. 
And equalizes all, will, 1 expect. 
Hang every jury thro' the centuries all, 
Or, with high reverence, acquit IngersoU. 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 109 

For as tlie wheel of change ceasingly turned, 

Time made this Robert many friends indeed, 
And every day, to those whose friendship burned, 
Endeared him more. His unbelieving creed 
Unto impassioned humanity did swell. 
And they "smothered with roses" this Infidel. 

I want this jury just. No partisan 

Of his should be allowed to cheat the state. 
Your Honor knows that once thro'out the land 
Great congregations in God's churches sate, 
But as Robert came along with Time and Doubt, 
You remember how his preachers dwindled out. 

They made apostates of his pious sons ; 

His holy chalice drained; his temples razed. 
And in their stead erected pantheons, 
Wherein all sorts of deities were praised; 
Furnishing this Infidel with endless libel, 
Enabling him to contradict the Bible. 

Pagan : 
As far as I, your Honor, am concerned, 

I will admit the prosecution's plea; 
Feeling that ere Time all his leaves has turned, 
The world my client's innocence will see. 
Being so 'quit by Time 'fore lords and ladies. 
Sufficient is to cool the flame of Hades ! 

For what is sweeter than the sympathy 

And love of all the loving, human world? 
If shrined within the world's great heart he be. 
Why let a thousand gods their venom hurl! 
To him the love of man the gods' outreaches. 
And purer is than all the Bible teaches. 



110 The Pagan's Poems. 

Some say that Time blots out the villain's shame, 

Humbles the mighty, and exalts the mean; 
I know he breaks the strange spell of a name, 

And from the weeds and stubble grain doth glean. 
He does not polish Wrong — he may forget him! 
But he does sanction weak Right, and abet him. 

Judge: 
He hath then prejudice, and must go out! 
Call yet another talesman. 
Clerk: 

Bigotry ! 
Pagan : 
If 't please the Court! 

Judge : 
Nay, Pagan, do not spout 
Let thy ^'unruly member" silent be. 
For Bigotry is every dogma's layman; 
Attending Esther full as well as Haman. 

Elihu: 
If 'it please the Court, the time doth grow apace, 

And millions more for trial here do wait; 
To examine each witness on the case 

Would occupy the judgment-day till late. 
I think Pagan will offer no denial 
To simply a fair plea on this fair trial. 



Satan : 
Well, what if he object a thousand times? 

Is justice wooed by this vain Pagan's beck? 
Does his dominion cover Heaven's climes, 

And from the noose save every rascal's neck? 
No! The Court of Heaven hath arbitrary power, 
By virtue of its right, to rule the hour. 



Defense of Ingebsoll. Ill 

Pagan : 
To evade law our purpose is not bent, 

The prosecution's motion we accept. 
Give us an hour's time and we 're content, 
For in Mosaic law we 've been often kept 
Deducing facts to Honesty's calm level. 
Comparing law of God with law of Devil. 

As for Sir Nick, his logic is intense; 

Well may he uphold arbitrary poiver! 
He shows thereby more silliness than sense — 
A spirit which makes great men slink and cower. 
I came not here a challenger defiant, 
But to prove innocent an honest client. 

Judge : 
It is enough. An hour we will grant. 

The Court of Heaven stands adjourned till then. 
While we are wasting Time with wit and cant. 
We should be meting law to nobler men. 
Peter : 
Oyez! oyez! Know ye, saint and sinner, 
Court rests an hour for justice's sake — and dinner 1 



PART SECOND. 



Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended, but this one thing I do: for- 
getting those things which are behind, and reaching unto those things which are 
before. — FhilUpians Hi, 13. 



When Time upturned his hourglass again 
To let the sands dole off another hour, 
Scarce had the first grain fell when ope'd the door, 
And entered jury, judge, and legal power. 
Ingersoll walking with the " Man of Ferney," 
Satan — Peter — Pagan — and Heaven's attorney. 

In ermine clad, the judge resumed his chair; 

The jurors, sworn, entered the jury box. 
Peter arose, surveys the crowd with care. 
And then with gavel on the table knocks. 
Commanding silence, " Court now resumes!" said he. 
Then pales, as a cock's shrill crow comes o'er the lea. 

Aj)Ostate Julian smiled, and Moses laughed, 

John, the beloved, nudged Simon in the side; 
Peter's spare fingers clutched his sabre haft, 
He looked as though the cock had on him lied, 
Then nervously sat down again and wriggled. 
While all before the Court of Heaven giggled. 

Iscariot and Arnold then came in; 

Nick eyed them, scowled on Job, then turned his 
head 
And smiled on aspen Jael, who held the pin 
That stilled Sisera when his cohorts fied. 
Wise Solomon to Ruth paid his addresses. 
Smoothing with fingers fair her lovely tresses. 



Defense of Ingersoll. 113 

With manner staid His Honor then arose, 

And with a few well-chosen words did ask 
An armistice 'twixt partisans and foes, 
Bidding the prosecution 'gin his task. 
Elihu, Heaven's attorney, then began 
His plea for the prosecution. Thus it ran : — 

ELIHU'S PLEA: 

, Gentlemen of the Jury: 

Long ago 
I plead a case 'gainst Job, as you all know. 
That plea shows plainly that I never draw 
My argument from cunning^ but from law ! 
And in this case, in which I've been employed, 
I'll offer naught but truth, pure, unalloyed. 
Tho' punishment alone will crime redress. 
Bight has no use for cunning or finesse. 
Believe me, 

I shall deal in truth; let them 
That handle error practice stratagem ! 
For we would rather lose case after case 
Than win a single one by methods base; 
Aye, rather have nine out of ten go free 
Than punish one that should not punished be. 
But, gentlemen, the prisoner at the bar 
Came from that nether sphere where passions are; 
Where Virtue in an empty bed doth sleep. 
Where Vice and Folly nightly vigils keep; 
Came from that orb where unbelieving Pride 
Hath, in its vanity, all truth denied. 

Where Malice, with swelled lip and livid face, 
Bittered Life's cup for half the human race; 
Where Jealousy doth play his galling part. 
Filling with anguish deep the human heart; 



114 The Pagan's Poems. 

Where Wickedness and Wealth., like courtesans^, 
Allure with subtle kiss and velvet hands; 
Setting a snare that tangles and destroys, 
Lowers man's triumphs, and purloins his joys. 

That globe where Sin sits monarch on his throne,, 
Receiving homage from the millions prone; 
Where every virtue, every noble thought, 
Is, ere it springs divine, from conscience bought,, 
And hid in darkness, like a miser's gold. 
Which lies unbought, unborrowed, in its hold 
Until its owner dies, and unknown heirs 
Seize it and give it to the world as theirs. 

That planet where all mysteries lie dead; 
Where full-fledged atheism lifts its head; 
Iconoclasts essay to read the stars. 
And search beyond the circumambient bars. 

Where men no longer kneel 'fore gilded shrines. 
And empty churches hide 'neath trailing vines 
That thro' the chancel windows twine and creep 
Unnoticed, while the great religions sleep! 
No more for them now ring the deep-tongued bellss 
Their charming changes and their solemn swells. 
The crucifix and crosier reek with rust. 
The robes and books lay crumbling in the dust; 
The owl and bat rest on the altar rail. 
While o'er the pulpit drags the slimy snail; 
Unscared, the sluggish snake slips o'er the floor; 
A hand^ in years forgotten, barred the door! 

Ah, gentlemen, what wrought this mighty change? 
Whence came the frost that blighted this fair range? 
What creature interposed with ruthless hand, 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 115? 

And made the man a god — the god a man? 
Aye, revolutionized this nether sphere ! 
''T^^as Heresy ! Behold! its priest is here ! 

That sinful zone of which I spake is his; 

Know ye; he helped to make it what it is. 

I simply said, he helped, but he did more 

To spread this unbelief from shore to shore; 

To swell and strengthen Atheism's band; 

To paralyze and gyve Religion's hand; 

To bring on creeds and faiths Destruction's rime;^ 

To save the scoffer and sink the sublime; 

To snare the clergy and their fair names smirch ; 

To rear the dome of Doubt and raze the Church ; 

To rent out Hades, and freeze Satan numb. 

Than any infidel in Christendom ! 

Therefore he stands indicted. 

I shall prove 
By that grand living law, which I do love, 
That he hath broken almost every clause 
Incorporated in the Ten Great Laws. 
If he break one, the Bible hath declared, 
That all are broken till they be repaired.* 
And as he never knelt in humble prayer, 
'Tis plain he never~ did the law repair. 
I stand upon the law that Grod hath given: 
No scoffer or law-breaker enters Heaven. 
That he is both: — 

Here are his works as proofs I 
Works that from man were never held aloof: 
Here's an '^Oration on the Gods;" he gave 
Out God a petty tyrant; man a slave; 
Here is the text with which his speech began: 
"An honest god 's the noblest work of man!" 

=■■• James ii, 10. Matt, v, 19. 



116 The Pagan's Poems. 

That line itself is Heresij ! 

It brings 
The Supreme Ruler after man-made things; 
That man-made anythings are noblest works, 
Is dogma even lower than yon Turk's. 
But does he cease with this one heresy? 
No! Almost every line is blasphemy! 

He says our God was born of Hate and Fears; 
The nectar of this God is blood and tears. 
That he is cold and heartless as the grave, 
And out of every ten bare one will save; 
And that wh«n martyrs die, to win his love, 
He sees them burn, but sits unmoved above. 

He says our God, compared to other gods. 
Is like a grain of sand compared to clods — 
That other gods have proven greater powers — 
That other gods have reigned in sweeter bowers — 
That other gods have ruled and passed away — 
That our God, in time, will lose his sway — 
That all the priests and powers God ordained. 
Will perish soon, forgetting that they reigned. 

He says: a god of Love would not command 

One son to devastate another's land; 

Would not instruct an army, on its raids, 

To spoil the wives and babes, and spare the maids 

A spoil unto themselves. 

As much to say 
That He who " giveth and taketh away " 
Dares not his fore-warned, sinful children slay, 
Even if they refuse him to obey. 

But God gave those commands. He knoweth why^ 
To question them alone is Heresy! 



Defense of Ingersoll. 117 

Nor does his blighting blasphemy end here: — 
He touches every point to Christians dear, 
And follows his "Oration on the Gods " 
With scores of others which the world applauds: 
" The Mistakes of Moses ! " " Liberty ! " " Hell ! " 
"Skulls!" "Grhosts!" and others known fully as well. 

He scouts the tale of Jonah and the whale — 
Says Jesus could not stop a common gale — 
Laughs Babel's language theory to scorn, 
Claiming that language constantly is born — 
That Shadrach; Meshach and Abednego 
Would wilt before a common candle glow! 

That David was an amorous poltroon — 
That Joshua could not e'en bay a moon, 
Especially stop and back it, because 
The moon is ruled by changeless laws. 
He is a man wise in his own conceit, 
And with that wisdom led unwary feet. 

The Law doth say, none such will Heaven rule, — 
Such have not e'en the chances of a fool. 
But he is here, bold, and with paleless face, 
And doth a trial seek with wanton grace. 

He claims Pagan, his counselor, will prove 
His title to a mansion here above. 
But in my plea — so far as I have spake — 
I've shown you plainly he five laws did break; 
For he worshipped the memories of Voltaire, 
Shakespeare and Burns, and yonder quartette there: 
Goethe, Schlegal, Humboldt and Thomas Paine. 
These were the idols of his fertile brain. 



118 The Pagan's Poems. 

Oft did he take God's holy name in vain, — 
Often did he the Sabbath day profane ; 
Nor honored he his father, for you know 
His father preached " Christ crucified " below. 

The Sixth Law reads " Thou shalt not kill!" It states 

Further, "He is a murderer who hates 

His brother^ and shall lose eternal life " — 

Fall as twigs before the pruner's knife. 

That he broke the Eighth^ Ninth and Tenth., this book 

Of great orations is a witness. Look ! 

His honied speeches, with their humor tart, 
Their oily logic, stole the world's great heart, 
Purloined from man many a prayerful hour. 
Pilfered the churches of their mighty power^ 
Robbed the communicant of faith and hope. 
And e'en the vaults of mystery did ope 
And scattered their contents. 

For many years 
He traversed thro' that " earthly vale of tears," 
Where Christ, the Prince of PeacC; was crucified. 
And hoTQ false ivitness, blasphemed., lied! 
He called Grod's ministers ignoble knaves. 
Who strive to keep Humanity as slaves; 
'Said they, as churchmen, throttled every truth. 
Poisoned with error every fount of youth, 
■Clouded the heavens with phantom and gnome. 
And filled with fear the cradle and the tomb. 

Sweet jurymen: We do a duty owe, 

Not to ourselves and law alone, but know 

There is another interested here. 

Of whom the prisoner never had a fear. 

To whom this brazen scoffer doth belong. 



Defense of Ingersoll. 119 

Then, if you value Rights do Nick no wrong. 
That he by law is Nick's, you know full well; 
Nor is it mete that I should longer dwell 
Upon this ease. 

You know the prisoner's crime 
Hath not a parallel in all past time. 
Life never lost a scoffer more astute, 
Death ne'er obtained a more ungodly fruit; 
Genius was never prostituted so, 
Or logic woven from such looms of woe.. 

Never was irreligion so rampant. 
Or well sustained by blasphemy and cant; 
Never was the Supreme so rudely mocked, 
Or faithful, trusting souls so greatly shocked; 
Never did man do greater wrong than he — 
The knight errant of infidelity! 

Oood sirs: I leave the case within your hands. 
Certain it is the prisoner guilty stands; 
And when you to the juryroom withdraw, 
Render a verdict with regard to law, 
Finding the prisoner guilty. 

I thank you. 



Elihu ceased. John Calvin's bloodless face 

Gleamed for an instant with an hectic flush; 
King David walked across the open space, 
Magdalen smiled to see Bathsheba blush; 
The Nazarene turned his compassionate eyes 
Full upon Ingersoll, with pity and surprise. 



120 The Pagan's Poems. 

Talmage and Beecher, like two loving pards, 

Sat deeply engaged in argument verbose; 
Mike McDonald took out a deck of cards 

But quickly put them back wben Pagan rose. 
The faces of all again resumed content, 
And Pagan proceeded with his argument. 



PAGAN'S PLEA. 

Your Honor., Noble Jurors, Fellotvs, Friends ! 
There is a point where ceremony ends, 
Where meaningless excuse is needed not. 
We will imagine we have reached that spot, 
And therefore offer none in our defense. 
But with our client's case at once commence. 

Gentlemen: 'Tis true the prisoner came 

Here from that sphere Elihu clothes with shame; 

A great part of the same we will admit, 

Denying tho' that Bob helped fashion it. 

For we, who know him, know, had he such powers. 

He'd make the world a paradise of flowers. 

Know, if our under world should feel his sway. 

Its pyramids of Vice would melt away, 

Its vacant churches turn to nobler schools 

To educate the King and priests — sad fools. 

Disease would hide its head beneath its wing. 
While health and happiness would soar and sing; 
Sweet flowers, fruits, and loving acts would grow 
Instead of thorns and thistles, weeds and woe. 
The bark of Life would never touch a shore. 
The Sphinx of Death would gaze on man no more. 



Defense of Ingersoll. 121 

111 the abodes of men the birds would sing, 
Rejoicing with them in eternal spring. 
But Ingersoll hath never ruled it, hence 
The prosecution does not show good sense 
Imputing such a thing to this brave man, 
Who ever held a place in Virtue's van, — 

Who never faltered in a cause for Right, 
Or lost his way in Error's gloomy night. 
But ah ! He is the ''Priest of Heresy ! " 
So says the prosecution. Let me see! 
Of what does it consist? Is trutli a crime? 
Should mankind strangle every tho't sublime? 

Must these great tho'ts, that do the soul inspire, 

Tho' tuned, be silent as an untouched lyre? 

Or shall we voice them with melody fair. 

As when the lyre's notes enchant the air? 

Or shall we let Hypocrisy and Cant 

Jar, as a discord, in some mournful chant? 

Suppose the small republic of the heart 
Differs in views from other ones apart. 
Who, with love for truth and right, could say 
Which of the two shall yield and which hold sway? 
There's but one monitor for such a test, 
And it abideth in the human breast: — 

Co)%scieneel 'Twill make the same reply to each, 
"Do good, hold sway, and practice what you preach!'" 
This, by my client, was the law received, 
The only revelation he believed; 
For there was Brahm, Mahomet, Chrisna, Christ, 
Each with his own religion and device, — 



122 The Pagan's Poems. 

Each with his morals, truths, philosophies. 
His principalities of pain and ease, 
His supercilious dogma, doctrine, doubt. 
Sanguine apostles, votaries devout. 
His paradise for faithful ones, his hells 
For heretics, apostates, infidels. 

"Now which is right? " my client asked his breast. 
Then took this path diverging from the rest, 
Promulgating Love, Truth, and Liberty,' — 
The prosecution terms this Heresy f 
Out of the tempest of chaotic creeds. 
Where Ignorance is robed and Reason bleeds; 

Out of the midnight of Despair and Hate, 
Where Fear triumphant reigned and Malice sate; 
Where Agony, with long-drawn tears and prayers, 
Seeking rest, found more hideous nightmares, 
My client came; teaching what few had taught 
Before: A moral state which none had wrought. 

Why, sirs, the histories of the world contain 

No greater evidence of greater brain; 

Their all-recording pages are not fraught 

With purer ideas or sweeter thought. 

'tho' the world has listened thousands of years. 

No nobler words have entered human ears. 

Touching morality — honesty — truth — 
Cheering enfeebled age, directing youth. 
Heeding the widow's and the orphan's cry, 
-And doing mankind good! Sirs, I defy 
The prosecution to show, if they can, 
A nobler^ truer, gentler., braver man. 



Defense of Ingersoll. 123 

But Gentlemen Jurors, Elilin says 
My client broke the Laws in many ways; 
That he hath broken almost every clause 
Incorporated in the Ten Great Laws; 
And that if he brake one^ the law declared 
All to be broken 'til they be repaired. 

The Bible sayeth: "There is not one man 

On earth that sinneth not!"* 

Now, if the ban 

Of Sin doth cover humankind, why all 

Who with the Bible stand, must with it fall. 

Ah; no! The law he gave is modified. 

The sin was counted naught if man applied 

In time for pardon. 

But to whom apply? 

The Bible gives the searcher this reply: 
"Touching the Almighty, what is He? " 

And furthermore, " What profit will it be 

To pray to Him? "t 

In Elihu's great plea 

^Gainst Job on earth, this answer do vfe see: 
*" Touching the Almighty, we cannot find 

Him outrX 

Within my client's lofty mind 

No doubt these strong expressions found a way, 

And why not they, as well as others, sway 

His bright ideas? And, admit this Doubt, 

Who. joined by Reason, weeded Error out. 

And founded a republic in his breast; 

Ask your own conscience, it will answer best 

This mystic riddle! 

Let us turn, sweet friends. 

To other charges which this case attends, 

* Eccl. vii, 20. t Job xxi, 25. { Job xxxvii, 23. 



124 The Pagan's Poems. 

Of broken laws, observe that, first, three 
Rest, like the first charge, on uncertainty — 
" Touching the Almighty, we cannot find 
Him out!'^ Bear, please, that axiom in mind. 

As to the Fourth^ you know they have not shown 
By argument of their, or Robert's own 
Acts or orations, that he broke the day — 
The holy Sabbath, as the Great Laws say. 
As to the Fifth. He rendered honor due! 
How many, honest jurymen, of you 
Travel to-day the paths your fathers trod? 
Worship to-day your honest parents' god? 
I doubt if there is one in court can say, 
The views my father held are mine to-day! 
Nor need they, for their honor is not proved 
By worshipping the things our fathers loved. 

Touching the Sixth. He killed no man, unless 
In war, to free the slaves from vile duress. 
Even admitting tliat the law so states 
As fact: " He is a murderer who hates 
His brother." * 

Robert hates no earthly man 
But democrats; he's a Republican; 
They cannot be his brethren; so you see 
He cannot hate his brethren. He is free 
From that vile charge. 

The last remaining three — 
Read his orations, sirs, and if there be 
A single utterance, expression, word, 
Touching one of the three laws you have heard 
The prosecution claim my client broke. 
We'll drop this case and call it but a joke. 

* I John iii. 16. 



Defense of Ingersoll. 125 

His honied speeches — Elihu doth say — 

Stole from fond Earth her mighty heart away; 

Pilfered from man many a prayerful hour, 

And blocked the churches from the path of power; 

Thereby committing this infamous crime 

That hath no parallel in all past time. 

Who else can reason so? Where is the one 
Who, eagle-like, can stare the summer sun 
Until it blushes, or doth coyly quail? 
Where is the man can make the rose turn pale 
With trepidation? Or the oak's heart rend 
With tales of times when death and sorrow blend? 
We know not, gentlemen: but we can tell — 
E'en tho' we quaffed not from Nick's inky well 
A draught of subtleness — wherein this crime, 
Instead of being sin, has been sublime! 

My client did not hold that the abyss 

Had fathomed been by him; but he said this: — 

Touching a future life we do not know; 

Nor can we solve the mystery of woe. 

We cannot stay Death's cruel; ruthless hands — 

Our feet must kiss the Lethe's silent sands. 

Like threads wove in the loom of earthly grief, 
Within Death's web alone we find relief. 
At least from this, the present's load of woe. 
Beyond this pale hoiv can ive see or knoiv? 
Why then, my client said, let Error die. 
Slay Superstition, and uncloud the sky. 

Know ye, mankind remains, let the ghosts go; 
Hold Reason friend, and Ignorance a foe; 
Drive from the Eden of the human soul 
All that is fierce and wrong, mystic and dole; 



126 The Pagan's Poems. 

Give Liberty to conscience, tongue, and brain,- 
Send Superstition hence, let Justice reign; 
Be lionest^ noble, generous and brave; 
Love all mankind, and hold none as a slave; 
Then Death will have no sting. 

This is the crime 
That hath no parallel in all past time. 
For tJiis, Hell stands agape — the heathen rage — 
Elihu shrieks ^' Revenge ! " Tho' every page 
That teems with love and pity, tenderness 
And sweet compassion, offers him redress. 
For this^ his charity is held as naught. 
His escutcheon, unsullied, bears a blot. 
Can you believe, sirs, that in Joy^s domain, 
Where long he labored, he should toil in vain? 

Can you believe that Heaven's pearly gate 

Can bar him out? That it should be his fate 

To dwell in Hades, infinitely damned. 

While Paradise with murderers is crammed? 

Is pain the recompense of charity ? 

Bondage the lot of those who make men free? 

Is it a changeless, stern decree of Fate, 

To exile loving souls to realms of Hate? 

Are those who battle Sorrow, Want, and Fear^ 

Furnishing fuel for this Satan here? 

I cannot believe it! I cannot think 

A loving Grod would such a vengeance drink, 

Grentlemen, now we leave the case to you. 
Feeling that you will render justice true; 
We ask no pity for our client here. 
More than he showered on the nether sphere; 
Craving no fairer judgment than he gave. 
Ere Nature led him to the silent grave. 

Thanks I 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 127 

There was a silence deep within the court. 

But only for a moment did it dwell, 
For with an angry flush on his face swart^ 
Satan arose and broke the dreamy spell, 
Saying: "If there is aught that you would give to me, 
Most honored judge, let me answer Pagan's plea. 

" Tho' I am neither human nor divine, 
I only a few fleeting moments crave; 
I wish to speak, good sir, for what is mine, 
And has been ever since he found the grave! 
Give me a few minutes and I am content." 
The time was granted. So ran his argument: 



SATAN'S PLEA. 

Your Honor and Right Worthy Jurymen: 
No doubt my first appearance in the ken 
Of some of you, will fill your souls with awe; 
But I am coniC; sirs, to fulfill the Law, 
And only to the Law's extent will go — 
A friend to justice, but to fraud a foe. 

This Ingersoll 's a fraud, and he is mine 
According to the law of God divine. 
We made a solemn compact and agreed 
Tliat all who should refute the Christian creed, 
Or bodily the Ten Great Laivs defy. 
Or bear false witness, worship idols, lie, 
Or swear by Holy Ghost, or Heaven, or earth,, 
Profane the Sabbath day with work or mirth,, 
Or tarry with and drink too much of wine, 
Should be my pro]3erty. This Bob is mine! 
And, gentlemen, if I should lose this case, 
I'd lose my interest in the human race. 



128 The Pagan's Poems. 

For if this Bob is not a guilty man, 
There ne'er was one since Christ succeeded Pan,- 
Since Brahmin priests inculcated the plot, 
Which warped the tenets that Grautama taught,- 
Since swart Mahomet triumphed o'er the cross 
Crushing the Crusader. 

Why, sirs, my loss 
Would be a disgrace to Theocracy, 
Tending to foster a Democracy, 
That would, in time, upturn the throne of Him 
Who beat me out of Job, in ages dim. 



If Bob were innocent, you might, quite well, 
Improve on Paradise and swindle Hell; 
But that he is guilty is so well known, 
Men question not. 

Elihu hath shown 
With all the fairness honest men can ask. 
And plainly proved — for 't was an easy task — 
That the indicted prisoner at the bar 
Is guilty as indicted. 

And so far . 
As that vain Pagan is concerned — 
I would that he were ready to be burned — 
What laiv hath he bro't to support the case 
He now defends? Why, sirs, upon the face 
Of his own argument these facts are plain: 
There roved a pirate on Religion's main, 
A bolder craft no sea had ever borne, 
A barque that held all other barques in scorn, 
One that preyed bravely on the bravest fleet, 
And never paled before the battle's heat; 
Before which even bold Discussion quailed 
And slunk away defeated. 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 129 

This ship sailed 
Fearless of God or man for many years ; 
It heeded not man's pious prayers or tears, 
It asked no quarter and it offered none, 
But now? It rides within this port undone. 
Its black flag flaunts no longer in the breeze, 
And gone are its impious vanities. 
Where is the spirit now that once so free 
Impelled it on to triumph ? 

Can it be 
The Giaour is conquered ? Aye, and here he stands 
Begging sweet mercy at the monarch's hands. 
His hired counselor, with subtle speech, 
Pleads for the vessel stranded on the beach; 
That it may furl its seeming snowy sail. 
And ride at anchor safely in the vale, — 
A pardoned vessel, with a pardoned crew, — 
Rejoicing. 

Render now the justice due 
Me, as the party of the second part — 
So stated in said contract. Then my heart 
Leapeth with greater joy than I can tell, 
Joy that is deeper than the depth of — well, 
Of the ocean, incomparable and vast. 
Or of the sombre vale or mountain fast; 
Do so, for justice's sake, not mine alone. 

"Sweet sirs, how can wow-penitence atone? 
Or Virtue labor when sne hath no task? 
Or Mercy answer when no sinners ask? 
Or how can Honesty recline secure 
Within the heartless bosom of a Giaour? 
How can Love and Equality preside, 
When Poverty doth emulate with Pride? 
What can your verdict be? There is but one: 
" We find the prisoner — Guilty ! " 

I am done! 



130 The Pagan's Poems. 

CONCLUSION, 

The judge arose and to the jury read 

His manifold instructions brief and just, 
And, closing with a clear, firm voice, he said,, 
" To you we now resign this solemn trust. 
Withdraw to your room, review the argument, 
And find a verdict — guilty or innocent. '''' 

Peter then led the jury from the box, 

Shakespeare, the immortal, arose and let 
McDonald have the chair beside John Knox; 
Mike pulled his purse and offered Knox a bety 
Forty to one, that Bob would be acquitted, 
But Knox neither bet, denied, nor admitted. 

Then Morrisey drew near and said, " Me bhoy, 

I '11 be af ther bettin' yees all ye loike ; 
Here's a cool thousand; houldthe tin^ McCoy !"^ 
''Arrah! I'll niver bet wid yees," said Mike, 
"Ye played too foine a game in Seventy-Six, 
Declarin' all bets off! I knows yer tricks! " 

At this moment Peter returned and said, 
" The jury claim that they cannot agree." 

Elihu looked at Nick and shook his head. 

"Say," said the judge, "they must speak definitely; 
His guilt they must either afiirm or deny. 
We have not the time again this case to try." 

But it was vain. The men could not agree; 

And, reprimanded, they were dismissed all. 
How they stood might still be a mystery. 
Had Ignorance not let this morsel fall: 
" Bigotry and I the jury hung," said he, 
"Because ive believe Bob's Satan's property!" 



Defense of Ingebsoll. 131 



This case sometime, somewhere, may be again 

Tried in some court we know not of; 
But, if 'tis Bob's request, the Pagan vain 
Again will prove his never-dying love; 
And with more knowledge and less affected grace, 
Prove Robert fit for glory, and win the case. 



L' ENVOI. 

Reader, remember, this 's but a day-dream! 

Nothing is here to scoff opinions true; 
We merely show things as they to us seem. 
Without meaning offense ; and if they who- 
This epic read, find any merit in it 
Worthy of their esteem, tvhy^ let me tvin it ! 

Bishop, III., March, 1884. 



Qfti^ccUanaou^ 



A FRAGMENT. 



''Cross tlie street a maid is singing, 
As she thumps the ivory keys. 

Up the stairs the air comes ladened 
With the scent of boiling peas. 

By my window leaves of maple 
Ripple in the passing breeze, 

Bearing on its unseen bosom 

Fragrance of limburger cheese. 

Loud the dusky crows are calling, 
As they cross the normal leas. 

In the yard beneath my window, 

Mine host's boys the " billy" tease. 

While I'm thinking that the children 
Had better mind their q's and p's, 

I look out, my orbs of vision sight 
Of holy horror sees. 

For the boy with hair of auburn. 

Who the " billy's " neck would pat. 

Lies a heap in yonder corner, 

Knocked into a three-cocked hat. 



THE POET'S DREAM. 



The poet's nap is ended, love, 

And this is what he dreamed: 
The millenium had come. The dove 

To its mate much fairer seemed. 
The eagle sheathed his wicked claws^ 

And fed on berries rare. 
The lion closed his mighty jaws. 

And slumbered in his lair. 



The fish-hawk noticed not the trout 

That swam beneath its nest; 
The wildfowl glided all about 

The lakelet's placid breast. 
The tiger lapped the crystal flood 

That flowed by his retreat. 
He'd lost his appetite for blood, 

And water seemed more sweet. 



There by the stream where breezes blow^ 

The meek-faced goddess. Peace, 
Sat on her throne; a holy glow^ 

Bright as the " golden fleece," 
Shone down upon her, making all 

Feel animated love 
Break thro' the heart's steel-seeming wall,, 

Bright as the stars above. 



10 



Miscellaneous. Jo7 

And in the grove, where Love, when born, 

First touched the human heart. 
There rose a song sweet as the morn — 
" Peace never shall depart ! 
Sorrow shall fade, and Joy return 

With Peace to reign again! 
The human heart with love shall burn, 

And swell the sweet refrain! 

Ring out the Old! ring in the New! 

Let every heart be glad! 
The thoughts ye think, the deeds ye do. 

Shall never more be sad. 
The hopes ye have, the joys ye lack, 

Shall be fulfilled in time ; 
He who on Error turned his back, 

Shall gaze on Truth sublime! 

Friendship shall live ! That potent spell 

That first charms those we meet. 
And holds them fast till Love doth tell 

The story old, but sweet. 
And when the secret once is told, 

The sacred ofl&ce filled. 
The hearts of gentle and of bold, 

Forevermore are thrilled. 

But Hate shall die a pangless death, 

Altho' it wronged mankind. 
And breathed its thrice-accursed breath. 

Within the noblest mind. 
And tho' it comes within our reach 

This wicked thing to end. 
Yet one and all should nobly teach 

Pity to foe and friend. 



138 The Pagan's Poems. 

Compassion, like yon beauteous star 

That shines divinely there, 
Shall outstretch Orient's distant bar, 

And sham^ Revenge's snare. 
And Love and Law and Light shall beam, 

And save from tyrants' yoke 
The weak — " Alas! I did but dream. 

And dreaming, I awoke. 

rCoEMAL, III., Aug. 22, 1883. 



TO EMMA ETTER. 



Composed at the request of a Mend for his sweetheart. 



A true republic was my mind, 

No tyrant monarch here held sway; 
Here liberty could ever find 
A refuge, and within it stay. 

But this proud freedom felt a fetter 
When first I met thee, Emma Etter. 

Surpassing one! How thy dark eyes 

Have pierced the fortress of my heart; 
Fain would I barter Paradise, 

Trade Heaven in the unknown mart. 

For one sweet maid that I love better — 
That maid is thee, sweet Emma Etter. 

Bright are the silvery stars of night. 

But thine eyes have a brighter sheen. 
Soft are the tints of morning light. 
But softer tints mine eyes have seen 

On thy cheeks blended — my heart's debtor, 
E'er since I met thee, Emma Etter. 



Miscellaneous. 139 

Strong was tlie fortress of my heart, 

I thouglit its adamantine walls 
Beyond the reach of Cupid's dart — 

Yea! further stretched than Tara's halls! 

But when Love's princess came, I met her — 
How my heart trembled — Emma Etter. 

Yet still I bade my troops be brave, 

I thought this modern Jean D'Arc 
Would never in dej&ance wave 
Her vict'rous pennon as a mark 

Of my defeat. Now I know better, 
For I am vanquished, Emma Etter. 

I am thy prisoner, lady fair, 

Maimed by a love-dart from thy eyes; 
Now, with thy beaut'ous raven hair, 
Bind mC; my love, Prometheus-wise. 

Bind me ! I will not strain the fetter 
To break from thee, sweet Emma Etter! 

P. S. —Forgive me, Emma, lady sweet! 

This seeming boldness on my part; 
But in these lines thine eye will greet 
The open secret of my heart. 

T tremble lest thou 'It think me debtor 
To thy resentment, Emma Etter! 

Lake Shoee, III., Jan. 18, 1884. 



THE PAGAN'S PRAYER. 



Infinite Universe — my Grod — Ideal! 

In this zone where all speech is free, I dare 
Kneel reverently and offer my appeal — 

List, then, unto Pagan's poetic prayer: 

Thou Grod, whose form fills all immensity. 

Whose laws do hold in space each wheeling sphere, 

Come! Shed truth and light with all intensity, 
And drive away from earth Error and Fear! 



From the face of this free, yet shackled land. 
Dispel the mists of superstitions low! 

And in return bring Love and Joy so grand — 
Let Honor hand in hand with Virtue go! 



Let Freedom and Fraternity entwine 

Around this world where Life and Death are kings I 
Teach man to live and have a life divine. 

Pure and untainted as the crystal springs! 

We feel that all the joys of life that be, 

Or are to be given unto mortal man. 
Insist that he shall have a conscience free. 

And strive to be magnanimous and grand 1 



Miscellaneous. 141 

Teach man to think, investigate, and turn 
Unheeding from the bigot's blighting curse, 

To Avhere the bright Promethean flame doth burn, 
Where man can worship Grod — the Universe! 



Thro' all the countless ages of the past. 
There were a few who recognized thy right. 

And in defence of love and law stood fast 
Thro' Error's darkness unto Reason's light! 



They felt the fagot's flame when Bruno died, 
When Torquemada ruled with cursed spell ! 
" D/e, Heretics ! " the bloody priesthood cried, 
And branded on their foreheads — Infidel! 



But now, to-day, priests cannot shackle tho't, 
They cannot close the avenues of Truth; 

For now, thy precious principles are taught. 
And man has dofEed the scanty cloak of youth ! 



Take now from Life the curse, from Death the sting, 
Man should be fearless even to tbe end! 
Then Freedom, Love, and Law thy praise will sing, 
"And all the glory will be thine!" Amen! 
Bishop, III., Aug. 4, 1882. 



VOLTAIRE'S SOLILOQUY. 



What G-od created this wheeling sphere, 

And guides it thro' infinite space? 
Sails he on the Christian's sea of fear, 
A corsair to the human race; 

Plundering Happiness — Liberty — Love — 
A pirate in purple ruling above ? 

Builded on what is this Nero's throne? 

How wide is this tyrant's domain? 
Has his bloody crown, his kingly zone, 
Been forged from a heretic's chain? 

Do the flames that around the martyrs rise^ 
Waft such a sweet incense up to the skies ? 

I see his church as a man-of-war, 

Lo! its black flag flaunts in the breeze; 
The chalice is filled with martyr's gore; 
Did an honest God sanction these ? 

And that Reason should be so long defied. 
While the honest millions suffered and died? 

Science and Reason I see dethroned, 
And Mercy and Honor down trod. 
Where the dying philosopher groaned 
The priests thanked a merciful God! 

I heard the appeal from their lips that fell: 
'' Curse him, God ! Heretic ! Infidel ! " 



Miscellaneous. 143 

Agony's sweat, like the dews of Death, 

Gathers in huge drops on his brow; 

Back falls his head, he gasps for breath, 

Loosed is the rack of torture now! 

O'er the death-paling face the priesthood gloat, 
In the name of Mercy they cut his throat, 

I see Superstition hold the wand 

Over every nation, caste, and race; 
Before gods and ghosts the people fawn 
And kneel with blanched and tearful face; 

While the clergy, bearing Injustice's smirch, 
Rob the ignorant to support the church! 

What cursed idea snared man's heart, 
And clothed with knavery his brain. 
That loving hearts should be torn apart. 
Each doomed to wear a felon's chain? 
Has a god of Love created a Hades 
For the punishment of babes and ladies ? 

Liberty! Thou pleasing, happy thought ! 

Only a few more weary years 
And then will thy priceless gems be brought 
To free mankind from creeds and fears! 

Governed by Love and Law, the human race 
Will tear the cowl from Hypocrisy's face. 

Slowly^ surely, as the gentle dawn. 

Freedom of Thought is now nearing! 
On the face of Humanity wan 
The crimson of Joy is appearing! 

Of Love soon will the millenium be. 
And man will be really, truly free ! 

Teheren, III., June 20, 1882. 



A DRINKING SONG. 



Dedicated to "The Shyster Club.' 



Come gather, boys, around the board. 

Fill up your glasses to the brim; 
King Bacchus is a jovial lord, 

So let us drink the health of him! 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup, 

Pass one around to me! 
Here 's joy to those 
Who wear plain clothes — 
Kind-hearted, jovial, free! 



Here^s to the gallant volunteers! 

And to the boys that sailed the seas; 
Here 's to the braves who held no fears 
Of Southern guns and cruelties. 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup ! 

Drown in sparkling wine 
All sorrow's tears. 
All griefs and fears, 

That Death has made divine! 



Miscellaneous. 145 

America, our country dear, 

We stand beneath tliy glorious flags ! 
And even with our winecups here. 
We hurl disdain on foreign rags ! 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup. 

Pass one around to me; 
Here's to the boys 
Who feared no noise. 

And made our banner free! 



Here 's to the good old pedagogue. 

Who never left us in a lurch ; 
Who never dealt in sweetened grog. 
But often dealt in stinging birch. 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup. 

Drink ye long and deep! 
- We won't go home 
While the pale moon 

And stars their vigils keep. 



Here 's to our parents dear and old, 

Who spanked us many dozen times; 
Whose hearts have never yet grown cold, 
Altho' we've roamed in foreign climes. 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup. 

Pass one around to me! 
Here 's to our Pa's, 
Our dearest Ma's. 

May their lives endless be ! 



146 The Pagan's Poems. 

"Money is king!" all men agree, 

But in our liearts a woman reigns,. 
And we witli tliem can happy be. 
For true love eases tyrants' cliains. 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup, 

Pledge with ruby wine! 
Here 's to the girls 
With bangs or curls, 

May one of them be mine! 



Here 's to the babe whose nightly yell 
Chills all the marrow in our bones; 
Here's to "mine host," whose breakfast bell 
Awakens us with pleasant tones. 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup. 

Pass one around to me; 
Here's to "mine host,'^ 
Who loves us most 

When we don^t come to spree.. 

Here 's to the rich ! here 's to the poor ! 

Here 's to the high ! here 's to the low !. 
Here's to the man who'll kill or cure!* 
And here 's to crime's relentless foe If 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup, 

Drink in ruby wine ! 
Who loves nimi most, 
Will drink this toast. 

And sing, "All hail the vine!"' 
Bishop, III., March 10, 1882. 

* Doctor. t Squire. 



ADDRESS TO THE SWORD. 



On awakeuing and perceiving a sword standing in the corner of my bedroom at 
Moses EcJierd's, Topeka, 111., July 16, 1882. 



0, thou grim, silent symbol of war, 

That I gaze upon with drowsy eye. 
Art thou the mighty excaliber 

That has triumphed where the eagles ^fly? 
What knight has borne thee in the savage fray, 
And with thee courageously hewn his way? 



Thou, the Nation's last-sought arbiter! 

Reveling in blood on battle's field, 
Glimmering where tumultuous War 

Hath shivered the lance and crushed the shield^ 
Where the fierce musketry and cannon peal, 
"Where men are iron, with nerves of steel!" 



List! I will " a tale unfold " to you: 

A hero hath grasped thy jeweled hilt^ 
A son of Freedom who dared to do 

And die, — thus cleansing a nation's guilt. 
A nation that boasted of being free, 
Tho' holding four millions in slavery. 



148 The Pagan's Poems. 

A Hector burnished thee in his tent^ 
A Bayard wielded ye in the charge 
Where Liberty's sons in battle rent 
And shivered Secession's sullied targe. 
Now high ye rose, o'er the battle gleaming, 
Now flashed, and a foeman's blood fell streaming. 

Once ye were grasped by a son of Mars 

Who, in the humid midnight, bore ye; 
Brightly ye flashed, mocking the stars. 
As from thy sheath he rudely tore thee; 
On the foe he leapt, with heart swelling big. 
And in the darkness he murdered — a pig! 

Aye! Ye need not smile; the truth I tell, 

For ridicule oft flows with pathos; 
Strange things occur often, you know well 
Oft shines the moon as yet the day glows. 
Fierce fights the sun, tiny clouds obscure it. 
When mortal or beast could not endure it. 

But with my tale ! Thou'st endless kinship,- 

Great Caesar heard thy scabbard rattle. 
And often bore ye on his broad hip. 
Or swung ye fiercely in the battle; 
And with thy influence, lacking pity. 
Immortalized the Eternal City. 

The eyes of Cleopatra filled ye 

As from Marc Antony's girt ye swung. 
How oft her gentle touch hath thrilled ye. 
As round his brawny neck she clung. 
And heard him say, " Be thou true to me. 
For I would tvin as well as tvoo thee ! " 



Miscellaneous. 149 



Thus, while being idle, ye, alas, 

Defended not his kingdom mortal; 

And ere three times the seasons pass. 

The foe hath entered in its portal; 

And while thy kinsmen stern betray him. 

Ye guard his flight, then coldly slay him ! 



Now tightly are ye gripped by Vandal, 
Ye do his bidding and are not loath. 
Or here; art resting on the sandal 

Of some sleeping, dreaming Visigoth, 
Here Timour wields thy scimeter brother, 
And heartlessly thou break'st another. 



Al Koran's law, by swart Mohamet 

And thy assistance, made felt its thrall; 
And — Hark! Whose voice runs up the gamut? 
" Breakfast 's ready!" — the women call. 
Friend Sword, of thy deeds no more can I say^ 
For after breakfast I have to make hay. 



EPITAPH FOR GUITEAU. 



A fool assassin rests 'neath this sod. 
Then spurn it, gentlemen and ladies; 

His trust and prayer went up to God, 
His dust and soul went down to Hades. 



Bishop, III., Sept., 1882. 



LINES. 

Composed upon my twentieth birthday, Oct. 1. 1881. 



'Thrice welcome! anniversary of joy. 
Right glad am I tlio' still a boy, 

That I grew older as the world revolved. 
Thankful am I that my score 
Was in America, yea, more. 

Until death shall be they I am resolved. 

Freedom stood here fierce battle's brunt; 
Here "lipless famine laughed at want," 

And filled unknown sunken graves. 
With gallant transcendent volunteers. 
While a nation wept sad solemn tears 

On the death-pall of ennobled braves. 

This is the only government of the free, 
And could all creatures in it be 

For more than twenty fleeting years, 
I would that from their day of birth, 
All would see ninety years of mirth, 

Of love, and joy, but no heartfelt tears. 

But let the world move on for aye, 

And let not darkness, nor the light of day, 

Retard us in a deed or act of right. 
Be just in all the seasons of the year. 
When winter months, so cold and drear. 

Enrobe the earth in vesture white. 



MiSCELLANEO US. 151 

When reapers sing 'mid gathered sheaves; 
When Nature paints the autumn leaves; 

When King Prosfs keen and withering breath 
Passes over the twigs and flowers, 
Slaying the leafy shades and bowers, 

Covering the earth with the cowl of death. 

Life's but a wilderness of love and hate; 
We meet and wed, but seldom mate. 

Yet pass away, as all things must 
Pass from life, from loved endowed, 
From mem'ries gentle as a summer cloud. 

To voiceless silence and pathetic dust. 



Bishop, III. 



TO LOVELY L- 



I sing of lovely L to-night. 

But she, I fear, at this late hour. 
Dreams of me only. Her delight 

Is but to find me in her power. 
It is mine, too. That power is arms, 

Loving and warm, whiter than snow, 
Which embrace me with subtle charms. 

Lifting me heavenward from below. 
No evil thinks, sweet L , tho' blamed 

Of vile misdeeds by viler lips. 
Tho' I'm no saint, I'd be ashamed 

To crave the bud base passion nips. 

But loving with lifers love every hour, 

And being so loved is more than power. 
IjAke Shore, III., Oct. 27, 1883. 



ODE TO "OLD BALDY." 



Baldy, you're getting old in years, 
. Time lias you by the forelock, 

And will you take, despite our tears, 

Where brutal clubs no more knock. 
You've been^ I ween, as grand a steed 

As ever mankind treasured; 
Your faithfulness, so like your feed, 

Was oft'times poorly measured. 

Down in the bottom, by the spring. 

We heard your deep, low neighing; 
Then to our mem'ry tho't would bring 

Your vague intent of staying. 
Tho' you were not a soldier fine, 

Nor yet heard cannon rattle. 
You've fought along the picket line. 

And brunted many a battle. 

You had your faults, full well I know, 

We might pull till leadstraps sever, 
His Innocence, the mule, ivould go. 

But you'd stand fast forever! 
Space will not let me here narrate 

Your months of joy and sorrow, 
When Jim, with you would cultivate, 

Or John would plow or harrow. 

But, bald-faced Judas, I'll forgive^ 
As o'er you with comb I go; 

Oh, may you, ransomed sinner, live. 

And remain our weal and — Whoa I !. 

Bishop, III., Sept. 2, 1881. 



iESTHETIC OSCAR. 



Dedicated to His Lunacy, Oscar Wilde. 



hail him, Prince of the ah ! — sesthete, 

crown him king of the sweet too-too! 
soak his soft head and bathe his feet, 
And give him a drink of sunflower dew. 
His love for the beautiful makes him mutter, 
"I'm the ideal of the utterly-utter!" 

hang your hat on his long, long chin! 

pull his jacket down to his knee! 
His pants are so short, his limbs so thin. 

That a school-boy's pants would make him three ! 
Ah ! But you know he's so utterly too, 
So we'll coronate him with a gilt horse-shoe. 

His sceptre shall be a sunflower stalk, 

His banquet shall be of sunflower seed. 
Sunflower petals and sunflower hock, 
With a thimblefuU of strychnine mead. 
And to make him a little more ah ! — aesthete, 
With a mustard plaster half -sole his feet. 

0, Sullivan, break his long jawbone! 

0, Ryan, hit him a sweet, sweet whack! 
Down by the sea where the sad waves moan, 
Let him sit down on a carpet tack. 
Ah! yes, he'll rise higher than noonday's sun, 
'Til ether and he are blended in one. 
11 



154 The Pagan's Poems. 

I 
send him back to Ultima Thnle, 

Or silence for aye his wide, wide mouth; 
get him kicked by a " Kaintnck muley," 

That will knock him galley east or south. 
We wish to befriend you^ sweet aesthete child, 
For we love you distractedly, " Hoss-car " Wilde. 



too, too utterly Oscar Wilde ! 

In United States you'll find some fools 
Who admire your ways, aesthetic child. 
And over the sunflower sickly drools. 
You can easily make money from such as those, 
By rubbing the sunflower under their nose. 

JitiHOP, III., March 8, 1882. 



TO A DIVINE (?). 



What were eternity, false priest. 

If half thy canting words be true? 
I 'd rather die like any beast, 

Than enter Paradise with you! 
Think of the woman wronged and left 

With the young fruit of thy false love; 
Her heart broken; her life bereft. 

Rev'rend! If Justice reigns above, 
May you — I'm praying — get your dues ! 

May in turn taste the bitter bowls 
Which Fate fills for those who abuse 

The confidence of trusting souls. 
For how could Mercy mete your groaning, 
When she but sees thy victim moaning? 



THE SHERMAN SOCIETY. 



Standing serene on a sandy height, 

Is a little school-house snrnamed " Trout's," 
Where rising statesmen, on Friday nights, 

Meet in debate and political bouts. 
Here youth and beauty attention lend 

When low-keyed speakers have the floor. 
Knowledge and eloquence, sometimes, blend. 

And doubly proud is the conqueror. 

Joy is a wealth not hard to secure; 

Its bounteous streams flow free for all. 
They who lack it are very poor, 

For torrents upon the meanest fall. 
For pleasure we meet in this little house, 

Regardless of mud or roads unknown: — 
Grirls afraid of a " horrid mouse," 

Boys afraid to go home — alone. 

We meet to wile the fleeting hours, 

With noble aim and purpose grand; 
We meet to deck life's path with flowers. 

And stand in friendship, hand in hand. 
Still may the streams of knowledge pour. 

For some may have a nation's trust, 
Or may lead hosts on fields of gore. 

Before they pass to voiceless dust. 

Bishop, 111., Jan. 15, 1S32. 



COMMEND ME. 



Commend me to the boy who tries 
To make this life a blessing, 

And lights with love his parents' eyes,, 
Their fondest hopes expressing. 

Commend me to the man whose hand 
Is strong on war-plains gory; 

Who weds a woman pure and grand, 
And crowns his life with glory. 



Commend me to the winning lass 
Whose riches are her graces; 

For she disdains with those to pass. 
Whose wealth is naught but faces. 



I see a maid with temper mild^ 
Devoid of choleric passion; 

Who scorns not rude misfortune's child,, 
Nor trades her brains for fashion. 



Commend liie to that maiden fair — 
Mine eyes see none above her — 

I know no jewel half so rare, 
Because, you see, I love her! 



MiSCELLANEO US. 157 

€ommend me to that couple old, 

Who braved life's wintiy weather; 

Who shared each other's love and gold, 
And crossed Death's stream together. 

Commend me to the gay buffoon^ 

Who lacks of merit more than ivit, 

Eather than to that artless loon, 

That two-faced canting hypocrite ! 

Commend me to the foe who pays 

Me measure back for measure; 
And likewise to the friend who says, 
" My purse is at your pleasure." 

Commend me to the friend who loans 

When I am forced to borrow, 
Who does not say, in doubtful tones, 
"I'll see, come back to-morrow!" 

Like Job, I one time had three friends. 
And they, sweet friends, had money; 

Says I, "Help me to unite ends." 

Says they, ^'Not muchhj., sonny!" 

While Fortune my few wants supplied, 
They hovered near — bald eagles; 

But when I needed them they sighed. 
And slunk away like beagles. 

Fate! give me sickness, hatred, pain, 

Rather than they, diurnal ! 
And should these friends join Heaven's train. 

Give me Hades eternal! 
Havana, III., May 10, 1884. 



PROGRESS AND POVERTY. 



Written upon the fly-leaf of Henry George's " Progress and Poverty.' 



Onward its steps dotli Progress trace, 

Priests cannot hold it fast! 
The fear that ruled the human race^ 

Must abdicate at last. 
For progress hath given unto man 

The alchemy of might, 
So now he may extract a plan 

To lead the world aright. 

The clay hovel it turned to brick. 

Walled beautiful and high; 
And reared on pillars high and thick^ 

A dome that reached the sky. 
It took the beggar's ragged gown. 

Turned it to silken cloth; 
It tore the thrones of kingcraft down, 

And spilled the witches' broth. 

Nature's forces it bound as slaves — 

They turn a million wheels; 
Plows, with her steamships, ocean waves,, 

'Til all ports grate their keels. 
Confined the lightning's spark in wire, 

Brought the two worlds to face; 
Drew the crude metals from the fire, 

Fashioned in beauteous grace. 



Miscellaneous. 159 

Silenced the war-cry of the Hiiii, 

Subdued the Islam vain, 
O'ercame the haughty Saracen, 

Expelled the Moor from Spain. 
Entombed that teacher of Pity 

Who " gave all Asia light;" 
And o'er the Eternal City 

Followed the eagle's flight. 

Lo ! the Grrecian walls it lowered, 

And o'er them foul weeds grow. 
The Romanized Britons cowered 

When Northmen left their snow. 
But now ? They stand as masters strong. 

The Norse kings roam no more, 
Their unmarked graves are scattered 'long 

The Scandinavian shore. 

This is the light — the dark side see: 

Behold how near the same 
Is the pinched face of Poverty, 

Still wearing pale Want's maim. 
In yonder palace's shadow there 

An orphan froze to death; 
The breeze that winds yon attic stair, 

Clogs a limp widow's breath. 

The men with muck rakes toil on still, 

The crown they do not see. 
Wealth doth again her coffers fill. 

And sneers at Charity. 
Why is it, tho' advancing wealth 

On every side we see. 
That men are robbed of joy and health 

By Want — by Poverty? 



IGO The Pagan's Poems. 

Ahrinian figlits with Ormuzd still, 

The Viking braves the snows, 
And on the Greatheart's armor chill. 

Still ring the clanging blows. 
Upon Osiris Typhoon scowls. 

The Visigoth still wars. 
And day and night the Vandal prowls 

Where Eoundheads nurse their scars. 

Laice Shore, III., May 10, 1883. ^ 



LINES TO MY COUSIN, MISS F. J. K. 



Live forever, gay jovial coz! 

Attended by Virtue and Love; 
For every queen that is_, or was. 

Without them would nothing prove. 
A woman sublime and truly grand, 
Grives wealth to him who receives her hand. 

Coz, be noble and grand to-day _, . 
For to-day reaches unto Death. 
Let Scorn and Slander have their say. 
They are only wasting their breath; 
For Calumny cannot stain the gem 
That decks a virtuous diadem ! 

The present alone is the field 

In which all our battles are fought; 
A pure heart, like an iron steel. 
All perils and dangers will fraught. 
And true happiness will reign supreme, 
As free from dross as the sunny beam. 

Teheran, III., June 23, 1882. 



KEENAN'S CHARGE. 



Tlie eve 'fore "Stonewair' Jackson died, 

When murd'rous cannon thundered, 
Bold Keenan rode, while by his side 
Galloped his brave three hundred. 
Some one shouted 
" Howard is routed ! "" 
Confusion reigned as fierce they fought; 
"Left battery, here! 
Fire! to the rear! 
Pass your pieces ! March forward ! Trot ! 



The frightened bugler caught the word 
" Trot!" and sounded it the more; 
Naught else but Babel then was heard. 
As on came Jackson's massive corps. 

Trampling the dying, 

Scourging the flying. 
And Sickles was yet a mile away; 

While coming nearer, 

Distincter, clearer, 
They heard the wild rebel ^'"hooray!" 



162 The Pagan's Poems. 

Beyond the woods the sun had set, 

But thro' them, in the thickening gloom^. 
Stonewall's fierce troops came faster yet, 
Elated at the " Northeners " doom. 
Yankees surrounded! 
Chaos confounded! 
" Beneath the war-clouds rolling dun." 
Now in the twilight, 
Brunting the fierce fight, 
Up to the front rode Pleasanton. 



Still onward rushed the fierce platoons. 

Proclaiming " victory! " every yell. 
There was Keenan with his dragoons! 
Were they Winkelreids? Who can tell?' 
"Those pieces align! 
0, for some time! " 
Would brave Keenan get it — or die ? 
'''"Forward!" he thundered. 
Grallant Three Hundred, 
At twenty thousand throats they fly! 



Stonewall faltered — " In heaven's name," 

He said, " What by that charge is meant? "'' 
But when no more bold riders came, 
Keenan died with his regiment. 
Altho' they were slain. 
They died not in vain. 
For time was gained as down they rode. 
Noble Three Hundred! 
Pleasanton thundered, 
"Fix, prolong, with canister load!"" 



Miscellaneous. 163 

Stonewall Jackson's legion quailed 

Before tlie sirocco of death 
That from the Union cannon hailed, 
Hotter than Hades fabled breath. 

Then loud rose a yell, 

And glad the news fell, 
Sickles had come with his brave corps; 

Loud our guns thundered, 

But the Three Hundred 
Had fallen, to rise never more! 

There lay dead the brave Three Hundred — 

Lay like harvest's scattered sheaves. 
They simply died — nobody blundered — 
Their lifeblood stained the withered leaves. 

Praise men like these, 

Who stood as trees . 
When the woodman lays the ax on. 

Soldiers wondered 

How three hundred 
Checked the brave, intrepid Jackson. 

Bishop, III., April 13, 1882. 



AUTOGRAPH. 



The heart 's a little thing 'tis true. 

And may be light; but others weeping. 
And low on bended knees will sue — 
"Fair lady, trust it to my keeping!" 
But have a care for suitors clever. 
For one regret may last — Forever! 



INCOGNITO. 



I left my home on a wintry morn, 

Of wealth and knowledge was I in quest; 

I roughed my way toward the setting sun — 
To the great broad prairies of the west. 

Of coin I had little; friends were feW; 
"A bum," all styled me, small and gritty; 

By my appearance every one knew 
That I was a strang^er in the city. 



All along the line I beat my way. 

And slept at night on box-car floors ; 
Securing, sometimes, one meal per day, 

For I wouldn't beg at farmhouse doors^ — 
For Yanks were not born to heg for bread. 

Nor were they born to sue for iDity, — 
Nor in supplication bow my head. 

When I was a stranger in the city. 



Caring but little for snow or sleet. 

And praying for neither good nor ill, 
I traveled with footsore, weary feet, 

Till I reached the town of Centreville. 
Into the depot I bent my way, 

A tired, rain-soaked, youthful Chitty, 
With brazen cheek took a calm survey. 

For I was a stranger in the city. 



Miscellaneous. 16& 

I dried my clothes, and tlie marshal sought, 

And hnnted long ere I found him. 
But I found him, and at once I thought 

He 'd a marshal cloak around him. 
Down town we went, and he turned me loose, — 

Don't imagine I'll say something witty, — 
For he turned me loose in the calaboose, 

Lo! I was a stranger in the city. 

The following morn he sent his son, 

Inviting me to his breakfast board; 
Amazed, I queried, '' Why does this one, 

Who knows me not, treat me as a lord?"' 
Ah ! he was a man noble and true. 

Whose heart was easily turned to pity 
For his fellow creatures, and he knew 

That I was a stranger in the city. 

Yes, I ivas strange, and he took me in 

And treated me as a friend and brother,. 
For he had in similar cases been. 

Away from dearest home and mother. 
We called on a friend during the day. 

Whose daughters were charming and witty^ 
And they insisted that I should stay. 

For I was a stranger in the city. 

I stayed, and saw Cupid's arrow pass. 

And sever two warm young hearts in twain:: 
My own_, and that of a blue-eyed lass 

That I ne'er expect to see again, 
I hope that virtue may adorn her. 

Who gave to me her love and pity. 
I'll own it: — I loved Allie Horner — 

When I was a stranger in the city. 



166 The Pagan's Poems. 

And of the man who befriended me 

When I was friendless, hungry, and cold. 
With him may Father Time lenient be. 

But ah! his name I have not yet told. 
He lives in Centreville, County Wayne, 

Indiana. This ends my ditty; 
Archibald Lytle was my friend's name, 

And I, am 

A Steakgee IK THE City. 

SisHOP, III., Marcli 7, 1882. ' 



" BOB INGERSOLL." 



Who is this man, " Bob IngersoU," 

About whom we so often read? 
Is he the man whose motives all 

Are bent in tireless, grasping greed ? 
Is 't he who robbed Manhattan Bank ? 

Or has he slain a fellow creature ? 
Or played the guileless shepherd's prank, 

And fed the ewe lambs a la Beeclier? 

No ! He is a friend to all the poor. 

And renders aid with lavish hand. 
He wants a government secure. 

Love and Free Thought thro'out the land. 
He says "" There is no might but Right," 

And '' Man should have a conscience free." 
He wants "a creed to stand the light." 

A meaner man ne'er was! D'ye see? 

Bishop, III., Marrh 3. IS'^i. 



PLEA FOR THE VEST. 



My mission is to teach you tlie art of "In and Out-door Decoration," to dress 
:sesthetically in blouse and knee-breeclies, and doff that superfluous garment — the 

•Vest.— Oscar Wilde. 



All! you'll cabbage my vest, will you, Wilde? 

Wbat ideas are housed by you cranks! 
My — ray — vest, you sad jBsthetic child; 

No, I'll hang to my garment, Os; thanks! 
Throw my broad-brimmed gray hat in the fire; 

Take my shoes along with the rest; 
Yea, embezzle my wardrobe entire, 

But leave, oh! leave me the Vest! 

That vest was the pride of my childhood. 

When first I donned male garb. I s'pose 
(0, whisper it, Os^ in the Wilde-wood) 

'Twas made of my father's old clo'es. 
'Twas mate to a pair of jean breeches. 

That hang in the clothes cupboard there ; 
Nine hundred and ninety-nine stitches 

Completed this second-hand pair. 

It is the prop of my life, sesthete ! 

Around it fond memory clings; 
Far more useful to me than my feet, 

A storehouse for ninety-nine things. 
See ! It fathers my watch-chain so nice, 

My toothpick, toothbrush, and cigar; 
A card with mysterious device, 

Lo! " Grood for ten cents at the bar." 



168 The Pagan's Poems. 

You'll find in my left lower pocket, 

To my heart the next nearest place, 
A handsome wee cameo locket^ 

Containing my early love's face; 
And encircling it is a ringlet 

That I plucked from her auburn hair. 
Take, Oscar, take the dear thing — let. 

But my vest, Wilde Englishman, spare. 

I know you have big money, Colonel, 

And gall to make up for the rest. 
But, as Jackson says, " By the eternal!" 

You 're left when you tackle the vest! 
1 've no doubt but you think you are right. 

But I know very well you are left^ 
And you '11 find ere the close of the fight. 

The vest is too dreadfully heft. 

In private, Os, a word with you, please, 

I have some advice to bestow: 
Gro, corner a limburger cheese — 

There's strength in the cheese you well know. 
Many skippers are there in their might. 

And they are more harmful than these; 
'Tis the strong, not the weak, you should fight; 

Drop the vest, Os, and go for the cheese ! 

Oscar, sweet aesthetic donkey. 

Let up on the vest scheme, I pray ! 
Your Darwin's sad tale of the monkey, 

Is sadness enough for a day. 
Don't fill Sorrow's cup to o'erfiowing 

With infinite, utterless woe ! 
But leave us the solace of knowing 

The time-honored vest shall not go. 

Bishop, III., Sept. 19. 1883. 



A POME ON SPRING. 



SUBLIME AND SAD. 

O that mine enemy had teen at home during spring cleaning. 



At last! at last! beautiful spring, 
Thoii hast returned, and the woodlands ring 
With the songs of birdies, boys and bees. 
And rosy-cheeked maids, and sich as these. 

The birds fly high and the birds fly low; 
The hired hired girl kneads the spongy dough; 
The carpet hangs on the clothes-line there, 
Beaten to rags by a maiden fair — 
A freckled maiden with auburn hair. 



The gooseberry blossoms scent the breeze. 
Where Hans devours the limburger cheese; 
The house-dog worries the old-gold cat. 
The kitchen stove and the pater spat. 

He stands on a chair with boiling blood, 
'Till the pipe fells him with a sickening thud. 
He wishes himself a lifeless corse, 
And tries his best to die &f remoi^se; 
He tries to die — but fails, of course. 
12 



170 The Pagan's Poems. 

The sad moon sliines witli a silv'ry slieen 

Where the blonde mule grazes on the green; 

The clover bends under humming bees, 

While " may-queens " hang on the gates and sneeze. 

The air is ladened with sweet perfume, 
For Spring is decking stern Winter's tomb. 
In smiling gardens, by smiling leas. 
Spring chickens are scratching up the peas, 
Garlic and onions^ and sich as these. 



The pink peach-blossoms wither and fall; 
The small boy falls from the garden wall. 
Like a rising tide, a swelling sea, 
Grreen apples overcome — Where is he — ? 

Ask that old man repainting the barn — 
Ask that old lady dying the yarn. 
They say he's gone — he died — poor thing! 
Slain by an apple, way last spring! 
Verily, truth do we poets sing. 



A lovely knoll with grasses teeming; 
A long-haired springtime-poet dreaming; 
A world of shadows; a sinking sun; 
An editor with a Parker gun! 

A loud report; lo! silence pervades, 
A mound appears in the sombre shades. 
All that was beautiful once, and dear. 
And poetical, lies buried here, 
Slain by an editor on his ear. 

3. .MCE SiiOEE, III., May 19, 1884. 



€. B. FARWELL'S ADDRESS TO THE BOLTERS. 



Stenographically taken at a distance, o la Shakespeare. 



Friends, Half-breeds, and Independents! 
Loan me your ears — at eiglit per cent. 
I came to bury Grrant — not to praise him! 
The evil politicians do hang to them; 
The good — rarer than hen's teeth — 
Lives after them. So mote it be with Grant. 

Here, with the will and consent 
Of Lord Roscoe and other stalwarts, 
Came I to say my little speech 
At Jim Blaine's funeral. Had Logan 
KnoAvn what I was wont to say. 
He never — or hardly ever — 
Would have yielded me the floor. 
For Logan is a son-of-a-gun ! 
So are they all sons-of-guns ! 

Logan says that Grant is not ambitious; 
Logan is a prevaricator — if you know 
What that is ; and he 'd best soak his head. 
Because he can't back it, knowing 
That I can lick him on four feet square, 
Yes, Logan is a brick, you bet! 

You all know mighty well, 
At Washington they offered this same Grant 
Some bull pups. He took them just took quick! 
Was not this ambition? Correct! 



172 The Pagan's Poems. 

But Logan says lie is not ambitious; 
But Logan is a son-of-a-gun ! 
And liis reputation for truth 
And veracity is questionable; 

So be the rest on 'em! 
When Belknap cried, Old Useless wept, 
And said, "Let all the guilty ones escape;" 
And you bet they escaped. 

Here, gaze on this Sanhedrim, 
Run by the stalwart machine ! 
See what a grip the gushing Conklin has! 
Look how the envious Cameron runs his clique. 
And here the well-beloved Logan sits 
With a bob-tailed flush, et cetera. 
Ah ! Logan is — 

[Here Logan knocks him down.] 



So are they all. Ahem! 
They used to rule the roost in this old 
Commonwealth. I gave them the g. b. 
In my feeble mind! 

[Pulls a rag out of his pistol pocket.] 

Here is Jim Blaine's duster! 
Ah! well do I remember, 
It was not in bleak November, 
When each red dod-gasted ember 
Cast a ghost upon the floor — 
Burning a hole through the carpet — 
AYhen first he put it on. 
It was the day before he got walloped 
At Cincinnati. 

A short time before " Pope Bob " knighted him,, 
" An armed warrior, a plumed knight.''^ 



Miscellaneous. 173 

Look here ! Here is a — Well., I'm dinged., 
If it isn't a Mulligan letter! 
Well, never mind, Jim is all 0. K. 

[Walks down among the kickers.] 

If you have coin to chip 
Prepare to chip in now, for we 
Can buy a nigger mighty cheap! 
He votes with Tom Ochiltree's mob, 
The same which brought here Flanagan, 
Whom the beloved Logan cussed. 
But Logan is n. g.! So are they all! 

[Goes back upon the rostrum.] 

Sweet friends ! dear friends ! do n't let 
Your angry passions for a moment rise, 
Or scrap with Johnny Logan! 
Do n't get so high upon your ears 
At my impassioned palaver. 
I do not possess the science of 
My Lord Roscoe, or I would make 
Chicago howl by moonlight. 

[The Chair announces the nomination of G. and A.] 

Gentlemen, I pass ! Let Pope Bob 
Write my epitaph. Selah! 

Bishop, III., June, 1882. 



A PARODY. 



Inscribed to " Stuffix.' 



Der cliug vat held der sclmapps vas broke,. 

Der schnapps vas all spilled out; 
He dinks it vas some gruel choke 

Of some mean drunken lout. 
He saw der viskies on der floor, 

It filled his heart mit pain; 
It slopped his gup of sorrow o'er, 

He nefer smiled again. 

Ver vy he nefer smiled some more, 

Ve can't eggs-ectly dink; 
If viskies run roun' mit der floor, 

Yas handier to drink. 
But he svored off, I do n't know vy, 

Hey offered schnapps in vain; 
He vould n't drink — he vas n't dry. 

He nefer smiled again! 

Red eyes vas caused by visky strate; 

Red noses gomes from schnaps ; 
Bote make der boys gif up der fate, 

Und knocks dem off der props. 
He reasoned dus, vile many dinks 

Yas passing mit his brain; 
He reffused seven visky drinks — 

He nefer smiled again! 



Miscellaneous. 

He driiiked himself mit lemonade, 

Also iced milk uiid tea; 
He sipped sweet cider in de shade, 

Und tried to happy be. 
He liffed. For life may long be porn 

Ere dem'prance breaks der chain. 
But dasted not der chuse of gorn — 

Ne ueffer smiled again! 
Bishop, III., Aug. 30, 1881. 



A SONNET. 



Mt Son: 

A moment lend your ear, 

I have some advice to bestow, 
Which may you profit, if you '11 hear. 

As 'long the path of life you go. 

" Be thyself! " first — if thou art true — 
If not, Be True ! and then, Thyself, 
With honest thoughts thy mind imbue, 
For honesty is more than pelf. 

Love thy country; love thy neighbor; 

Has he a daughter — love her best. 
Proclaim thy virtues not with tabor 

Or sounding brass from east to west. 

But let thy actions show thy beauty. 
In simply doing icell thy duty. 

Lake Shoee, III., Oct. 28, 1881. 



DIVIDED — A PARODY. 



A dry-goods store with a sliam stone front, 
A counter up-piled with shoddy goods, 

And all the fixings that women want. 

From piebald collars to brindle hoods. 

A dudist clerk with bottle-green eyes, 
That were bias-cut long years ago; 

A stare as vacant as Paradise, 

And hair as white as the beautiful snow. 

A country girl with a freckled arm, 

Auburn haired, and a mole on her chin — 

The lone heiress of a splendid farm. 

And, Dame Rumor says, a pile of tin. 



And old-gold cow with a stumpy tail, 
A maiden milking, divine and coy; 

Missing half-time the milking pail. 

But gassing away to the clerking boy. 

A yaller mule with a paint-brush tail, 
Backing in rifle-range, meekly mad; 

A cyclone shock! A falsetto wail! 

And a dry-goods clerk is sore and sad. 



A maiden's heart yields maiden's pity. 

The clerk feels richer than old Rhine wine, 

A parson living in the city 

Hath bound them with Hymen's link divine. 



Miscellaneous. 177 

A panic comes, — away goes riclies — 

But it brings a sawyer's lioss and saw; 

A man with tattered shoes and breeches 

Supports wife, babes and mother-in-law. 

A building up town with pea-green screens, 

He's making inerry, raising a din, 
Shelling the money out of his jeans 

For Bourbon whiskey and Old Tom gin. 



A calaboose with a hard-oak floor. 
Diet of water and mouldy bread; 

A gaunt wolf entering at the door; 

And an ill-starred wretch in awful dead. 

A shallow grave in the Potter's field, 
A fatherless family paupers made; 

A heart despairing, a blotted shield, 

A story half told^ a tune half played. 



A moral is here misguided youths 

Who marry for something else than love ; 

In my parody lie hidden truths 

Which may be handled without a glove. 

Beware of the maid with freckled arms! 

Steer clear of a sawyer's hoss and saw! 
Avoid dude clerks with twenty-cent charms, 

Bourbon whiskey and mothers-in-law! 

Lake Shore, III., Feb. 17, 1883. 



"BASCOM." 



A citizen of Bishop lay snoozing in the West! 

There was lack of Waldron's music, there was lack o£ 

Meyer's best; 
But a " scribo" stood beside him as he gayly snoozed away 
And wrote with active Faber each word that he did say. 



The snoozing layman faltered as he grasped some unseen 

hand, 
And said, " Upon the Fourth I'll be far from my native 

land ; 
Send a telegraphic message to that distant burg of mine, 
For I came here from Bishop, hard by the Wabash line! 



"Tell those jovial kids at Bishop^ when I sought this: 
western land 
I did not think they'd organize ' dot leetle Sherman pand;' 
I did not think they'd celebrate the nation's natal day 
With me in. Old Missoury, three hundred miles away. 



" But since I must be absent^ give them a gentle rub, 
Ask them if they've forgot Bascom who named the Shyster 

Cluh? 
Alas! How little mankind knows of human or divine — 
But he made Rome howl at Bishop, hard by tlie Wabasli 

Line! 



Miscellaneous. 179 

" Ask them if they recollect that spell when I was on my 

ear? 
I simg a dozen songs so well and washed them down with 

beer. 
It seems to me they can^t forget when I was Mogul 

Grrand, 
And called the dances right, you bet, in that far distant 

land! 

"But now they cannot count me in when evening's shade 

appears, 
And the music of Dan's violin falls on their unwashed 

ears ; 
For I'll miss that high-toned pic-nic, and — and — that 

black-eyed girl of mine. 
There goii»g to have at Bishop, hard by the Wabash line I 

Bishop, III., June, 1883. 



DEATH OF CAMERON. 



Far on the left, liidden from view, 
Beaver broke Charley and Agnew, 
Tho' there the Pennsylvanian 
Was solid still for Cameron. 
They threw the ballot-box aside 
And hard the party claymore jDlied. 
'Twas vain! for Bourbons on the right. 
With broad grin, cheered the bolter's fight.. 
Just then a fierce banana peel • 

Slipped 'neath the Wolfe of Union's heel. 

The Wolfe of Union fell! 
Yet still Don Cameron's black-snake flew 
With stinging crack, while fiercer grew 

Around the battle yell. 

The bolter's slogan rent the sky! 
A Wolfe ! a Lockwood ! was the cry, 

And loud the whisky stunk. 
Advanced, forced back, now low, now high, 

The ballots rose and sunk. 
Where bought repeaters cast their votes; 
Where the bulldozer's dulcet notes 

Vowed " Cameron's kerplunk!" 

And now to Harrisburg there rode 
Two henchmen soaked with gin; 

The same car bore a helpless load, 
A beaten boss within. 



MiSCELLANEO US. 181 

His hand still held the whip divine, 
His breath smelled of cigars and wine, 
Dragged from beneath the bolters' feet, 
With empty purse and prestige beat, 
The haughty look, the plumage gone! 
Can that be mighty Cameron? 

Young Quay his vest then did pull down,. 
And turning to his friends around. 

Said, ^'By gee-whiz! he's gone! 
For we ca^n very plainly see 
That his ' machine ' got the g. b. ; 

Grood-by to Cameron!^' 
" Unnurtured Quay, thy growling cease, 
He's senator,^' said Oliver. "Peace!" 

When wiped his chin, he felt free air, 
Around 'gan Cameron wildly t' stare: 
"Where's Colonel Quay? Oliver, where? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ? 
Redeem my prestige ! vote again ! 
Yell 'Cameron to the rescue!' Vain! 
Last of my race in politics. 
We '11 rule no more by subtle tricks. 
Yet my last thought is Office! Fly! 

To Simon bear my signet ring. 

Tell him a bar'l along to bring. 
Oliver, to Lord Roscoe hie ! 
Cooper lies stiff, too full to curse. 
And empty is his flask and purse ! 

George Lear is down, and I am full, 
Hartranft alone the wool can pull. 
Let Rawle charge 'gain the bolters'* front,, 
With stalwart Beaver of Bellefonte. 



182 The Pagan's Poems. 

Charge full upon tlie 'kickers" ' host 
Or victory and Keystone's lost! 
Must I bid twice ? Hence ! cleave the air, 
Leave Cameron here alone — to sivear! " 

They parted, and alone he swore, 
'Till a drunk repeater ope'd the door 
And heard his palaver high flown, 
As half he murmured — "Is there none 

Of all my State has nursed — 
Collector or State Senataire, 
Assemblyman or Postmastaire, 
Bulldozer or repeater scum. 
To bring me here a jug of rum 

To slake my dying thirst?" 

Scarce had this music left his mug, 
Than the scum repeater grabbed a jug. 

And to a bar-room ran. 
Forgot was master, whip, and fight, 
Forgot was high, ambition's light. 

Forgot the dying man! 
With back bent head the jug he drained. 
As thro' his teeth the rum he strained. 

The fight that for a space did fail, 

Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale, 

And '^' Pattison I '"' they cry ! 
The shades o'er Cameron's visage skip. 

And fire his bloodshot eye. 
And as an oath escaped his lip, 
He shook the fragment of his whip 

And shouted, ''' Treachery T 
"Die, brave old guard! Wolfe's work is done," 
Were the last words of Cameron. 

■Bishop, III., June 1, 1SS2. 



JIM jBLEDSO'S pard. 



Requi-sca< in pace. 



Wall, yes, I'm arter yer, parson! 

So get yer prayer-book an' lets walk; 
We want yer down tliar at Carson, 

Fer to sling us some buryin' talk. 
Fer down thar in Fancber's back yard, 

We bad a big racket last niglit, 
And Lawson, my war-lovin' pard. 

Was killed at tlie close of the figbt, 

Yer see, Lew started tlie riot 

By wbackin' Big Jim on the nib. 
An' to get tbings settled down quiet, 

Jim whetted his knife on Lew's rib. 
You bet ole Lew was a knifer. 

But he could n't stan' to Big Jim ; 
Fer Jim was an army fifer. 

An' tough as a hick'ry lim'. 

Yes, Lew was reckoned a hard 'un. 

But there's lots in the camp that's wuss; 
Yet, by ! I'm beggin' yer pardon, 

I did n't intend fer to cuss. 
But Lew was the slickest feller 

That ever flipped pasteboards, I b'lieve ! 
An' when he played for the "yeller," 

He 'd only three jacks in his sleeve. 



184 The Pagan's Poems. 

An' Lew was awful big hearted — 

A better cbap never drew breath; 
But when a racketed git started, 

Yer bet he stayed in 'till the death ! 
An' when he shot fightin' Tom Kidder 

Fer crackin' my mug with a stool, 
He went an' married the widder, 

An' sent all the youngsters to school. 

Wall, here we are now at Carson, 

An' here's the boss ranch o' the camp; 
Take suthin' warm wi' me^ parson, 

Fer the air is chilly and damp. 
Don't drink ! Wall, now yer jokin'^ 

I alius stan' in on a treat. 
Eh? Yer say drinkin' an' smoking' 

Soon gits a bloke offen his feet? 

I reckon yer skull 's about level, 

Fer drinkin' hurt pardner and me; 
We wasn't askeered o' the devil, 

Whenever we got on a spree. 
Wall, let 's along to the boneyard — 

A region my fancy ne'er suits — 
This corpus, here, is my pard. 

With the shooters stuck inter his boots. 

Now give him a send-off, parson; 

Say he was the best o' the boys; 
Could fite any bloke in CarsoU;, 

An' was n't askeered o' a noise. 
Now give him him an away-up racket — 

Yes, dod cuss their ornery souls! 
No, yer won't be asked to back it. 

'Cause I've shot Big Jim full o' holes I 
Bishop, Tli., March IS, 1882. 



LEORA AND JACOB. 



Composed by request for J. A. F.'s sweetheart. 



Leora and Jacob — lovely pair! — 

Courted in Dalton City. 
He praised lier eyes and nut-brown liair, 

She praised liim, — out of pity. 
He swore by all the Muses nine 

That she alone could dance well, 
She vowed that he was part divine 

And that he was no dam — sel. 

Said he, " I'll send a song to her — 

'Taint mine, but she won't know it,- 
I tell her 'fore she pulls my fur, 

' My love, I keeps a poet ! ' 
And this is what the poet wrote 

To satisfy Faust Jacob, 
Whose voice is good for any note 

The lyric muse can rake up: 

'' I love you more, Leora sweet. 

Than bumble-bees do honey, 
Far more than tripe or pickled feet, . 
Much more than pewter money. 
Fresh lager beer is flat and stale 

Before thee, my love's reaper; 
I'd gladly live my life in jail 
If you would be my keeper. 
13 



186 The Pagan's Poems. 

"How can I tread Life's path alone? 

The idea sets me crazy! 
Without my sun, my star, my moon, 

Without my Dalton Daisy ? 
Forbid it! Much mistaken Mose 

Thou knowest we are lovers; 
There is no eye, no cheek, no nose. 

That I would praise above hers, 

" To me you're sweeter than the rose 

That grows in Dalton's garden; 
I love you thro' and thro', Jove knows, 

From gloves to ' dolly-varden.' 
So do not tell me that my life 

Must seek a path diverging; 
I want you, Daisy, for a wife. 

Say ' yes ! ' love, wait not urging. 

" Behold me bow on bended knee, 

My heart is yours, love, take it! 
Be quick! before in idle glee 

Suspense doth open break it! 
For there's a secret in it, dear," 

That holds affection deeper 
Than that which I have shown you here. 

Will 'Ora be its keeper? 

LA.KE Shore, III,, Sept. 14, 1883. 



TO LILY. 



With a volume of Burns, on her twenty-second birthday, April 7, 1884. 



Surpassing one! I see the flowers 

That do the sweetest bloom, 
Deck for a day the leafy bowers, 

Then seek the silent tomb, 
Alas for them ! Cold earth they meet 

Ere dew-drops thrice fall tears; 
Bnt|thou hast bloomed surpassing sweet 

For two and twenty years. 

A half-blown rose, with petals fair, 

May charm some lovers eyes. 
While some behold in pansies rare 

The gems of Paradise. 
Some in the daisy's pearls and gold 

Serenest beauty see, 
A Lily, twenty-two years old. 

Is good enough for me. 

Burns sweetly sang of Bonnie Jean^ 

And Poe of Lost Lenore; 
Milton, with sightless orbs hath seen 

His love at Heaven's door. 
But Pagan, tho' a lesser bard 

Than these three bards of old, 
Finds in the Muses' flower-yard 

A Lily pure as gold ! 



188 The Pagan's Poems. 

Sweet Lily, may thou ever bloom 

Untouched by frost or blight, 
Until stern Nature calls thee home 

Unto the dreamless night; 
And may thy purity, as now, 

Forever bide with thee; 
And be the poet's Lily thou, 

Throughout Eternity ! 



The Pagai^, 



Lake Shore, III. 



TO A CRUCIFIED HAWK. 



How you have fallen ! Once you sailed 
On your strong pinions free and high. 

Up from the hedge where bunny quailed. 
You seemed a gnat 'twixt earth and sky. 

Oft preyed you on a weaker one, . 

But Vengeance came with Time along; 
You fell before the fowler's gun! 

Now you are weak who once was strong. 

Like dying Randolph say, '"'' Remorse ! '''' 

It suits you better than those screams; 

Then quickly die, for here your corse 

Must hang, — ^^a bad life's fruit, it seems. 

This is the lesson that all tyrants feel, 
When power 's abused it 's bound to reel I 

Teiierf.n, TLL.,0ct. 19, 1883. 



TO A YOUNG LADY, 

Who pinned this stanza in my hat: 

"If for a maiden young and fair 

Yonr heart in fondness melts, 
Who talks of dress and diamond rings, 

And thinks of nothing else; 
Who hates to do a stroke of work, 

But loves to sing and play, 
Give up all thoughts of wedding her. 
You'll never make it pay! " 



I tliaiik you mucli, fair monitor, 

For the advice yon gave, 
Aud if my answer be quite blunt, 

Your pardon do I crave. 
My love is not afraid of work. 

Yet " loves to sing and play,'" 
And should I win her heart and hand, 

I'll vow to "make it pay." 

My love thinks not of vanities, 

Nor ''talks of diamond rings;" 
But far from it! Her line of thought 

Embodies nobler things. 
Her life is like a star that leads 

Unto the perfect day — 
A solace to a heart like mine, 

I'll vow to " make it pay." 

The hope that's been the hope of worlds 

Reigns in my bosom too; 
The vistas that do sweeten life 

Are ope'ning to my view, 
All my morrow's bright effulgence, 

My sunshine of to-day, 
Lies in the casket of her love, 

Think tjou it ivill not pay? 

Lake Shore, III., May 17, 1884. 



LEILA. 



There's a maiden sweet in southern climes, 
Whose vision flits before my eyes; 

I see her now as in olden times, 
>With beaming face of sweet surprise, 

And brown eyes shining like golden ore, 
Red lips, that sung a sweet refrain, 

Or would say, when parting at the door, 
"Grood might, my love! come back again! "^ 

How could I resist such welcome words? 

Could I withstand this queen of grace. 
With voice as sweet as twittering birds. 

And handsome, rosy, winsome face ? 
The smile that brightened those dimpled^cheeks,. 

Robbed e'en existence of its pangs; 
But 0, how often she 'd speak to me : 
"Let me go, love! you'll muss my bangs." 

Many a time, in the mazy ring, * 

We tripped with light, fantastic feet; 
Often on Solomon's gate we 'd swing, 

Talking in accents low and sweet. 
We talked as lovers have talked of old, 

And little thought of worldly gain; 
Laughing, she said, " You '11 have to hold 

Me, 'cause I'm standing on the chain! " 



Miscellaneous. 191 

Could I refuse sucli a sweet command, 
And light with scorn that loving eye? 

No; I obeyed her with thrilling hand, 

For earth was heaven when she was nigh. 

Hours were moments, and Time an elf^ 

And Love's sweet stream flowed as the Gila, 

When she wrote me notes, signing herself, 

■"Yours till death doth us part, Leila!" 



But Fate hath decreed that I must roam 

And lose the smiles of that winsome face; 
But all the enjoyments of love and home 

Can't rob my heart of its idol's trace! 
And though I may roam in distant climes. 

Friendship with others bind or sever^ 
Hearts I may win, or lose, sometimes. 

But her's is an others /or^er/ 

HOP, III., Jan. 19, 1882. 



A BANANA PEEL. 



Smiling it lay on the village street, 

But a citizen by it sped. 
As it slipped beneath a granger's feet^ 

And stood him on his head. 
It spoke as the granger hove a groan : 
" I am the power behind the tliroivn! " 



BROWN-EYED JEAN. 



Composed for a friend. 



'T was years ago when first we met, 

When first by me your face was seen; 
Those sweet brown eyes I can't forget, 

Which won my heart to you, dear Jean. 
I came across the hills of sand, 

I saw you in the mazy ring; 
And should I roam a distant land, 

My meniVy sweet to you would cling. 

A season passed. We met again; 

You charmed me with your queenly grace. 
Your brown eyes stole my roving brain. 

And Cupid's arrow left its trace. 
Within this heart of mine so wild, 

Love's reapers found a field to glean. 
My warm affection, like a child, 

Knelt down to you, my brown-eyed Jean. 

I felt your sweet, bewitching charms. 

And saw with love your brown eyes fill; 
And as you nestled in my arms, 

I felt your heart with rapture thrill. 
I kissed your handsome, dimpled cheek. 

While ruby lips pressed mine I ween ! 
For ecstasy I could not speak, 

Nor could my happy brown-eyed Jean, 



Miscellaneous. 193 

And now to you, my Jeanie dear, 

I leave our future joys and griefs; 
With throbbing heart I wait to hear 

You pass, or touch, Affection's reef. 
If you'll but give me to me your heart. 

Your course you '11 ne'er regret, I ween. 
We'll live, and love, and never part — 

What answer you, my brown-eyed Jean? 



Bishop, III., June 25, 1881. 



MEYER AND UNDERWOOD. 



There's a kid in our village named Meyer, 
He possesses a temper like fire; 

He was caught on the fly, 

By a whack in the eye, 
That raised it nigh two inches higher! 



There's another chap, we understood. 
Whose name seems to be Underwood. 
He got wrathy at Fred, 
And punched well his head, 
As 'tis known how a " city boy " could. 



Bishop, III., Feb. 1, 1882. 



TO MISS MINNIE McC- 



Dear Pat : 

Whin Joy runs away wid yer lieart, 

An' laves ye no burden to pack, 
An' whin wid the loved ones ye part, 

Expicting no more to come back; 
Thin think av the roarin' ould times 

Yees had wid our free, aisy clan. 
Now scattert in tin different climes. 

An' wid aich one a woman, or man. 

Och, Pat! you swate innercent crathure,, 

Your swateness is killin' me, shure; 
Do n't lave me alone wid ould Nathure, 

To slide down life's could c6llar door. 
Fer, be jabers, I'll niver forgit ye, 

Fer I thinks o' yees airly an' late, 
Would ye answer me, " Yis, ye bet ye,'" 

If I 'd ax ye " Let 's consolidate ! " 

If yees won't, thin think o' the lad 

Who writ these lines in yer book; 
He was slick, but not very bad, 

But terribly swate on the " cook." 
His mim'ry fer yees will awaken 

Long afther the rist o' the crowd; 
An' he '11 get yees a " forty-graf " taken 

Av his own silf, laughin' out loud! 

Bishop, III., Sept. 29, 1881. 



TO MISS LULU G. KEPFORD. 



Who sent me a handsome houquet of flowers on my twenty-first birthday. 



I received tlie flowers which you sent me, 
With your wish of " many happy returns 

Of the clay " that marks my majority, 

And lifts the young oak just above the ferns. 

Thanks ! a thousand for your kind rememb'rance,. 

And the fragrant and beautiful boquet. 
If that stern trinity. Luck, Fate, and Chance, 

Decree not, I'll attempt you to repay. 

I would that all a -century might live 

Before they feel the " swarthy angel's"" breath; 

Or you at least, who did these flowers give. 
In your behalf I will appeal to Death: 

Stay, silent spirit of the scythe and glass; 

Stay where the poisoned Upas flowers are blown. 
Or in the vale thro' which Lethe doth pass. 

Or where the Grorgon turneth all to stone. 

Come not when youth and joy, with rosy cheeks. 
Are wandering where the buds and blossoms are^ 

Too full of Love's own ecstasy to speak. 
Or note the waning of the evening star. 



196 The Pagan's Poems. , 

€ome not wlien modest youth unfolds his love 
To her whose presence is the "lamp of life;" 

When the silence of the coy, sweet trembl'ing dove, 
Doth give the answer that makes her his wife. 

come not when the fond embrace and kiss 
Doth seal the vow that binds forever more; 

come not when their barque of earthly bliss^ 
Hath just been launched from Love's eternal shore. 

come not when the youthful, happy swain 
Has knelt where holy incense lades the air; 

Where God's vicegerent maketh one of ftvain^ 
And binds the nuptials with an empty prayer. 

Come not when youthful matron bends the knee 
To kiss the dimpled firstborn in its crib; 

When joyful father bendeth low to see 

The babe — flesh of his flesh, rib of his rib. 

Come not when patient pilot holds the wheel, 
With strong arm guides the vessel's iron prow. 

When thrifty husband whirls the fact'ry wheel, 
Or in the narrow furrow guides the plow. 



But come, remorseless swarthy angel, when 
Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow. 

Surely thy presence will be welcome then, 
To bear away the bittered cup of sorrow. 

Aye, come when age hath touched our tired hearts; 

Come when the last blown rose sheddeth its bloom. 
We '11 gladly cross the river then, that parts 

Life's transient day from Death's eternal gloom. 

Lake Shoee, III., Oct. 1, 1882. 



TO MY LITTLE HOSTESS. 



Unconsciously you played for me, 

While I listened enraptured, 
Unto " The Cottage by the Sea," 

Where I was almost captured. 
And then those " Beautiful Gates Ajar,"^ 

That lead to the " Golden Stair," 
You rendered like an opera star. 

As you did the " Sweet Hour of Prayer." 

" Somebodj'-'s waiting ! " Ah! that's me! 

Could I take your gentle warning. 
And " From the wrath of Satan flee ! " 

And " Go to church in the morning," 
Where notes of joy ever pealing 

Up toward each glittering star, 
Giving to the soul a feeling 

That the beautiful gates are ajar. 



Ah! you have finished playing, 

I could have listened till morn, 
Tho' my thoughts were homeward straying, 

They were, you know, in a horn! 
Strive to be perfect in other things 

That lay 'long the path of Right, 
And for the joyous songs you sing 

Accept my thanks. Good night. 

Mason City, III., Sept. 14, 1882. 



STELLA. 



Stella — A Stab. 



Some sing of love, some sing of mirth, 

Some sing of soft spring weather, 
Some sing of summer's gentle birth, 

When blossoms bloom together, 
Some sing a gay^ autumnal song. 

When trees don red and yellow; 
I sing of one — I may do wrong. 

But I must warble — Stella! 

What theme's more lofty than a star? 

What's sweeter than its splendor? 
Altho' the sun is warmer far, 

I think the star more tender. 
And tenderness contains more love 

And more of friendship mellow 
Than all that's warm or strong above. 

Yet none's above thee — Stella! 

And altho' I might paint thy charms, 

The work deserves a master; 
I feel that mine were next to harms 

I'm such a poet-aster. 
But if I rightly read your face 

I take you for no Dell'ah, 
But one whose nobleness and grace 

Alone exceeds a Stella. 



Miscellaneous. 199 

'Tis grand to know that in this life 

We sometimes meet the gentle, 
Who knoAv of naught but goodness rife 

Spiritual and mental; 
Who only with the virt'ous pass 

But speak a common fellow; 
May blessings fall on such a lass, 

For thou art one such — Stella ! 



Then pardon me, tho' strange to you, 

I whisper my desire — 
That you'll accept, for friendship true. 

One that will stand the fire; 
And recollect, tho' circumstance 

Presents some other fellow. 
Esteem for you my tho'ts enhance, 

And fills my day-dreams — Stella ! 



And should a cold and cruel Fate 

Lead us in paths diverging, 
I hope that in the " future state " 

Friendship will need no urging. 
That while Life's tempest on you pours, 

You may have an umbrella 
To shield you thro" its stormy hours. 

And one to hold it — Stella ! 



Normal, III., Aug. 15, 1883. 



TO MISS ELIESE E- 



Who sent me a sweet potato, Oct. 24, 1882. 



Dear Friend Eliese, 

That's if you please — 
I tliank you for the favor 

You proffered me 

In sending the 
Potato of sweet flavor. 

It filled my heart 

With joy to part 
The rind of that "sweet tater; " 

The luscious meat 

I quickly eat 
And — had the night-mare later. 

I slept and dreamed; 

To me it seemed 
That we were on the ocean; 

We all got drunk, 

The boat then sunk, 
And all was wild commotion. 

The waves I fought. 

My eye then caught, 
I thought, an alligator; 

But making bold, 

I caught a hold^ 
And lo! 'twas a "sweet tater!"' 



Miscellaneous. 201 

To shore I went, 

And homeward bent, 
When suddenly I stumbled. 

I broke my back, 

My neck did crack, 
A " tater-vine " me stumbled. 

And then, seeming, 

I ceased dreaming 
Of love — and green tomatoes ;: 

My pulse was hot; 

Tied in a knot 
Was I by sweet potatoes. 

There were three crows 

Sat in three rows — 
'Bout them we Ve often sung — 

But I, poor boy, 

Was filled with joy, 
When straio:htened out in one. 



God bless the girls. 
With bangs or curls. 

Or cheeks like ripe tomatoes. 
Most all that live^ 
WilP' taffy "give, 

^Viifeiv give sweet potatoes. 

Lake Shoke, III., Oct. 25, 1882. 



14 



JUANITA AND JAIRUS. 



" Altho' these lines separate us — Forever." 



It seemed that Fate had so decreed, 

That they shoukl meet in early years, 
Unconscious that their hearts should bleed, 
As down their cheeks coursed sorrow's tears; 
Unconscious that Love's bonds would sever, 
And isolate their hearts — Forever! 

They loving lived as swains before 

Have lived and loved, unconscious still 
That pain and anguish, held in store, 
Too soon would swell a saddened rill, 
To lave their lives with sorrow ever^ 
And wreck their ship of joy — Forever! 

They met — would they were spared the day 

They sought to' win each other's love — 
Where erst in life's romantic play 
Lovers had met their vows to prove. 
The same sweet song they chanted ever 
Before Grrief's Lyre was struck — Forever! 

They met unequal on Life's stage. 
She far above in finite glory — 
The goddess of a golden age — 

And stands the same thro' out the story. 
^' Freedom of Thought " their paths did sever. 
And closed Affection's tome — Forever ! 



Miscellaneous. 203 

Juanita's* parents feared a God, 

And taught his precepts to their child; 
She early passed beneath the rod, 
A maiden pure und undefiled 
As dews that fall from Heaven ever. 
And pure may she rerawa. ^-Forever! 

Jairus't ne'er passed beneath the rod. 

His trust to none but her was given; 
Truth was alone his only god. 
The fireside alone was heaven ; 
Reason he served. Religion, never, 
.And Reason he will serve — Fo7'ever! 

When first they met she did not ask 

Him for religion or for creed. 
For dogma or for sacred task. 
His love alone she found in need. 
And so they said. Death can but sever, 
Hearts we'll exchange for aye — Forever! 

They loved. Where erst the wild-bird's note 

Pealed weird, like wild Orpheus' lute; 
The vesper song from 'poor-will's throat 
Was garnered with Love's ripening fruit. 
Ah! they were happy! thinking never 
Affection's sun would sink — Forever! 

Now, hand in hand, they roamed the fields; 

They plucked the daisies on the hill; 
To flames of love alone they yield. 
And pause beside Affection's rill. 
No earthly hand, they thought, could sever 
'The hearts that now are twain Forever! 

* Wah-ne-tah. f Ji-rus. 



204 The Pagan's Poems. 

Beneatli the willows by the spring, 

Where doves and robins cooed and sung, 
Their merry voices gaily ring, 

And mingle with the leaves among. 
0, that the thorn had touched them never! 
And poisoned not their hearts — Forever ! 

They bowed before Affection's shrine, 
Clasped in each other's loving arms; 
The warb'ling birds, the flow'ring vine, 
Could not dispel the maiden's charms. 
They felt secure, no friends (?) endeavor 
Should blight their earthly hopes — Forever! 

Once on the blessed Sabbath's morn, 

When songbirds trilled their matin lays^. 
And wind swept thro' the tasseled corn, 
To waft her tender song of praise. 
She sung "^ Would that we had met never," 
Aye! would they'd lived unknown — Forever! 

With thrilling hand of love he pressed 

Her fragile fingers 'twixt his own; 
With other hand her cheeks caressed. 
While from both eyes affection shone. 
For them that song was written never, 
The day they met, they'd bless — Forever! 

The voiceless silence of the tomb 

Was never deeper than their love. 
Pure as the tint of Heaven's dome 

Were early vows thej'^ sought to prove.. 
Unfeeling _/r/ewf/s (? ) and schemers clever 
Could shatter not their dreams — Forever! 



Miscellaneous. 205 

They wandered thro' Elysian fields; 

No human speech could paint their joy; 
The grand influence Virtue yields, 
A man was making of the boy. 
Each noble precept, each endeavor, 
She bound around his heart — Forever! 



Juanita wept when Jairus left 

To roam, unknown, in Southern climes; 
Sorrow the hearts of each bereft. 
As came the tho'ts of olden times. 
"" But," said they then, " no hand can sever 
The hearts that Love hath bound — Forever!" 

Say not that absence turns the heart, 
That presence governs Love alone; 
For when we with the loved ones part 
We do but leave Affection's throne. 
The cords of Love we do not sever 
Or lose the heart's ideal — Forever! 

They met again, as of olden time, 

Again they "loved and sung of yore," 
Again they walked thro' fields sublime 
And pledged anew their vows once more. 
€ould they forget ? Aye, would they? Never! 
The golden cord was fast — Forever! 

A sweeter incense ne'er was breathed 

Than that with which Affection teems; 
A grander queen was never crowned 
Than her who haunted Jairus' dreams; 
And thro' his brain there flitted ever 
The^thoughts of her he'd love — Forever! 



206 The Pagan's Poems. 

Fair Venus did Adonis love, 

And Cleo' brave Marc Antony; 
Paul and Virginia well did prove 
That Love 's the wand of Destiny. 
That Death alone true hearts can sever, 
And dry Affection's fount — Forever! 

Yet may the fairy queens hold sway 

O'er fabled siren, nymph, and faun; 
The cliffs of Avon, dull and gray. 
May harken for Love's dying swan; 
But yet the Augean hostler never 
Could separate true hearts — Forever! 

No strength divine or might of man 
Can check or turn Affection's rill; 
No martial hosts, or stately van 

Can bend true Friendship's iron will. 
And some think Death has failed to sever 
Hearts that true Love had bound — Forever! 



Now o'er the grass-clothed hills they roam^ 

Admiring Nature's works sublime; 
Now borne beneath the azure dome 

They hear the church-bell's silv'ry chime; 
And thence they hasten, Joyous ever, 
Tho' not to join their lives — Forever! 

"Hear me, Juanita," Jairus said, 

" I can not boast of wealth and store. 
But love I give, and thou shalt wed 
An honest heart, if nothing more; 
A golden chain no hand can sever 
Shall bind our hearts for aye! — Forever !''' 



Miscellaneous. 207 

The beaming of her handsome face — 

The candor of her love-lit eye — 
The gentle kiss — the fond embrace. 
Alone gave the wished-for reply. 
Nor dreamed they that the thorn wonld ever 
Pierce deeply all their joys — Forever! 



Juanita left the old homestead, 

An ardent annt's desire to meet; 
As lambs are to the shambles led 
When schemers guide unwary feet. 
"Free thought," her friends (?) used as the lever 
To split the rock of Love — Forever! 

Jairus, a zealot rude may be. 

We'll own he has peculiar ways, 
He'd rather be with his tho'ts free 
Than "monarch of all he surveys;" 
He 'd rather with his best friends sever 
Than live a hypocrite — Forever! 

The match-maker's devoted zeal 

He held in the most sublime scorn, 
Of their schemes did as little feel 
Afraid, as of a "judgment morn." 
He thought no loving friends (?) endeavor 
Could isolate their loves — Forever! 

She knew in pocket he was poor. 

That he feared neither God nor man;: 
This knowledge made him feel secure 
Against the wily schemer's plan. 
He felt Wealth's sycophants could never 
Seduce the heart he 'd won — Forever! 



:208 The Pagan's Poems. 

But^Pate, who issues stern decrees 

And rules with tyrant's iron hand, 
Who mocks at prayers and bended knees, 
Loosened Affection's tender band. 
And with rude hand their hearts did sever, 
Creaking the golden bowl — Forever ! 

They parted. Still it may be best 

To turn aside from Love's highway, 
When shadows, falling toward the west, 
Disclose a gloomy, darker day. 
"'Twere better far their hearts to sever. 
Than join Life's two extremes — Forever! 

'Twere best if they had never loved — 

Better if they had never met 
To have their young affections moved; 
Best they'd died unknown! But yet 
Tier precepts he '11 remember ever, 
And they his life may bless — Forever. 

Jairus, loved wisely, not too well 

Before Fate broke the golden bowl; 
Breaking as well the magic spell 
That was charming an honest soul. 
Tie was honest, and his endeavor 
Was to make free men's thoughts — Forever ! 

No more a maiden's love could hide 

His thoughts behind a church's mask; 
And Ignorance, thou wast defied, 
When he sought Reason for a task. 
Farewell to creeds, to dogmas ever. 
Hypocrisy farewell — Forever ! 



Miscellaneous. 209 

Farewell, Juanita! fare thee well! 

Other arms may press thee nearer, 
Another may feel the magic spell, 
None other can love thee dearer! 
And]may you feel the thorn's pang never, 
But live in happiness — Forever! 

Farewell, Jairus! and may Fate see 

That you win another's heart, 
And may your life a poem be — 
A poem with a better part. 
Farewell both! For schemers clever 
Have rent your hearts in twain — Forever ! 



So they parted on Love's highway, 

Sund'ring the bonds loving and fond, 
But then, perhaps, some future day 
Will join their hearts in the Beyond, 
Where true love can be severed never, 
And hearts are one for aye. Forever! 

IBiSHOP, 111., April 10, 1882. 



ODE TO THE BEAUTIFUL. 



Inscribed to A. H. Kreiling, an honest man. 



The beautiful all men do love, 

And kneel, adoring, at its shrine; 
Its potent power tends to prove 

A theme so grand, that hand of mine 
Can never trace on snowy sheet 

The feeling which the theme inspires;- 
Can never, in poetic feet, 

Arrange the ode my heart desires. 

Among the beauties loved by man, 

And honored by the true and brave, 
Grrand, splendid woman leads the van; 

Man's joy and solace to the grave; 
The light of every hearth and home 

Where harmony and true love reigns. 
She conquers men's desire to roam; 

She share's his griefs and soothes his pains. 

Grander than Greek or Roman, still 

Nobler than storied nymph or faun. 
Sweeter than daisies on the hill. 

She loves man e'en when fortune's gone. 
Tender and true, ne'er to be spurned, 

Man's heart she holds until the last 
Gray hair has to the silver turned. 

And roses from the cheeks have passed. 



Miscellaneous. 211 

To woman, next, charming the soul. 

Comes Music's sweet ecstatic notes; 
Sweet melodies and cadence roll 

From nightingale and boblink's throats. 
For when Orpheus tuned his lute, 

The lark and thrush began their lays, 
The robin left the tempting fruit. 

And joined the tender song of praise. 

Music! Thou hast charms at best, 

To lure the eagle from his perch, 
To sooth the rude barbarian's breast. 

To split a rock (or bust a church). 
Then tune again the Orphean lyre; 

touch once more the ivory keys; 
For Music doth njan's soul inspire 

With 'ts sweet and tender symphonies. 

peal once more thy joyous notes. 

Deft toucher of the organ keys ! 
The carols of the wild bird's throats 

Can ne'er excel thy melodies. 
lure and charm till sirens fall 

Into the nectar Joy doth quaff; 
But know! thy strains are discords all 

Compared with Woman's happy laugh! 

The laugh that makes the bright eyes speak; 

That strengthens love and drowns our fears; 
That fills with dimples her soft cheek. 

Enough to hold all Sorrow's tears. 
The '^ yielding planks of the ivory floor," 

No grander, sweeter tunes inspire 
Than her's, who sang to me in yore, 

A song that lit Love's deathless fire.* 

* The WMp-poor-Will. 



212 The Pagan's Poems. 

The flowers, too, are fair to see — 

They lend a perfume to the breeze : 
From modest daisy on the lea 

To blossoms of the orchard trees; 
From honied harebell in the grove 

To violets beneath the bowers, — 
Each principle we hate or love 

Is represented by the flowers. 

The ivy and the columbine, 

The creeper with its ruby cloak. 
The cypress and Madeira vine, 

Like woman, cling to hearts of oak; 
Like her, do cling when storms have rent. 

Sundered, and crushed the mighty heart; 
Tho' elements their rage have spent. 

They cling and sooth 'til Death doth part. 

The mignonette and sweet woodbine 

Rival the pink carnation's sweet. 
The locust and the passion-vine 

With rich perfume the senses greet. 
Sweet is the rose with caustic thorn. 

And water-lilies by the mill; 
But clover and the tasseled corn. 

Are to the farm-boy sweeter still. 

But, cherished by the loving swain, 

The moss-rose and forget-me-not 
Have equal place; while in their train 

The pansy 's by the poet sought. 
He holds aloft his velvet prize 

That mocks the Heaven's azure hue, 
But rivals not the maiden's eyes 

Who bade the poet's heart "Be true!" 



Miscellaneous. 213' 

The mighty monarchs of the wood 

Stand beautiful above the fern; 
The logs with moss and Satan's food 

Are beautiful 'mid boulders stern. 
The crystal, pebble-bottom spring 

With joy the traveler's bosom fills; 
The carols, which the song-birds sing, 

Half-free the pilgrim of his ills. 

With all the Beautiful we see 

A sign of tenderness and grace; 
The flower, boulder-spring, and tree, 

Have beauty that no hand can trace. 
The brooks flow thro' the stony vale, 

Nor cease until they fill their part; 
While Man but stems Time's tide and gale 

Adoring Beauty, Nature, Art. 

Bishop, III., Feb. 14, 1882. 



A TRAVESTY. 



Tell me, my red-haired friend, 

Who drinks at my expense, 
Do you not know some realm 

Where whisky costs ten cents? 
Where candidates are flush 

And drinking men as well? 
Where lager beer doth gush? — 

There's plenty down in H — avana. 
Gin, beer, and rum, best boon to tipplers given. 
Are found, dirt cheap, within the gates of H — avana. 



MY FIRST LOVE.— THE RESULT. 



Man is born to trouble even as the sparks fly upward! 

— Paine. 



When first I saw lier, lovely maid, 

Possessing step like Venus, 
A snowy neck with gold o'erlaid, — 

Then Cupid stepped atween us. 
And as I gazed upon her face 

Her beauty me enraptured. 
So with a wholly gracious grace, 

I'll own my heart was captured. 

Thenceforth for me, a song of love 

Kept in my fond ear ringing, 
rSweet as the lark when it above 

The gentle dawn is singing. 
I love you, love, with all my heart. 

Can we not live together? 
Or must we drift Life's stream apart 

In celibacy's weather? 

how I longed to tell to her 

My bosom's hidden secret. 
And have her heart to mine recur 

With love pure as egret! 
Would circumstance — that heartless elf 

Who placed her far above me — 
■Give me a chance to place myself 

Where she miffht know and love me? 



Miscellaneous. 215 

Ah, yes! We wandered in the park, 

My heart beat like a hammer; 
Says she: " It 's growing rather dark," 

I answered, with a stammer, 
'""Ahem! yes; may — I — see — you home?" 

Says she, " Yes^ sir, with pleasure." 
Grosh! how ray heart leaped in its tomb, 

And beat a double measure. 

Long, long we swung upon the gate, 

A couple o' times I kissed her; 
And thrice she whispered, " 'Tis quite late, 

I must go in now, mister." 
I stroked her fuzzy fuzzees down. 

And said, "You need not hurry!" 
'"Ah, yes! " says she, "but pa's up town, 

And may come home quite merry!" 

"" Let him be merry, then," say I, 

If merry is his nature — " 
Then some one seized me by the tie. 

And said, " Ye blarney crathure, 
Yees must have kissed the blarney stone. 

Ah! yees shall see me merry; 
I '11 kick yees higher than the moon, 

Or me name's not Pat Kerry." 

He wrapped me twice around a tree. 

Then threw me o'er the railing, 
He made a football out of me. 

And kicked me thro' the palings. 
He took me to a " cop " sergeant, 

Who placed me in the " cooler," 
He said while Bid was his 

No slick-tongued Yank should fool her. 



216 The Pagan's Poems. 

Long years have passed, I've older grown,. 

Altliough I am no clinic, 
I choose to tread Life's paths alone, 

The folks call me a cynic. 
But when you bear what I have borne, 

And linger by Love's ferry, 
You '11 pray for Gabe to toot his horn 

Before "Pa comes home merry." 

Bishop, III., Sept. 7th, 1883. 



CLEMANTHE. 



A traveler asked a Hindoo slave 

That toiled on Ganges' plain, 
" Has Brahma you a promise gave 

That you will meet again 
The wife and children loved and lost, 

And buried in the glade ? 
The friends who left Life's care and cost,, 

Who rest beneath the shade? " 



The Hindoo's countenance turned sad^ 

His quivering lip was still; 
He sobbed, and then his heart seemed glad,. 

He checked the briny rill, 
And said; " Clemanthe promised me 

That when Life's weary train 
Has reached the ports where Fate's decree,, 

My loved I'll meet again. 



Miscellaneous. 217 

" I Ve asked of yonder frowning height, 

Covered with grasses green; 
I Ve questioned of the stars of night, 

That cast a silv'ry sheen; 
I made inquiry of the streams 

That ripple toward the main; 
They answered me, 'Aye, so it seems^ 

Iran, we '11 meet again.' 

" I 've questioned of the thrush and lark, 

And of the birds of night; 
I Ve asked of midnight's solemn hush,, 

And of the noonday bright. 
I queried of the passion-flower, 

The rose, with thorn of pain. 
The banyan-tree, the leafy bower, 

All said, ' We '11 meet again.' " 

The traveler and the Hindoo part. 

But Iran's words had moved 
A chord within the traveler's heart 

For those he lost and loved. 
He prayed he might in future years, 

In spite of dogmas vain. 
In spite of doctrines, creeds and fears, 

Meet his beloved again. 

We cannot drown a grief with words. 

When lingeringly we part; 
'Tis vain, when Death his armor girds,, 

And hurls his flaming dart. 
The tide of Life we cannot stem, 

Nor break Time's endless chain. 
But 0, the joy, if we with them 

Could only meet again. 

Bishop, III., Feb. 10, 1882. 
15 



JACKSON'S ADDRESS. 



Stand by the cannon! Stand, Tennesseans! 

For by the Eternal ! our power '11 prevail. 
Guard algainst infantry! Charge the plebians^ 

There's no need for us Yankees in Britannia's jail. 
Who dares to stand back? Are you free-born afraid? 

Recollect Bunker Hill, Concord, and Lexington; 
Recollect Put's brigade; think of the stand they made, 

Stood like adamant ! Volunteers, stand by the guns ! 

Let Packenham come! Rally, boys, to the fight, 

For, by the gods! we could stem the Almighty's tide; 
Rally around the flag! shell-pierced blue and white, 

And gore-striped by heroes who, defending it, died ! 
Died 'neath the leaden hail, or in Britannia's jail, 

Or fell on the decks when they met on the ocean ! 
Ha! here they come! but in the charge they'll fail 

To o'erwhelm, or in awe hold a freeman's devotion. 

('S'death! how they fight! Muzzle the guns wi' grape! 

Resist them! Ha! By the Eternal they falter! 
I'See the blood-reddened ranks our guns tore agape! 

Packenham's down! We've John Bull by the halter - 
We've whipped the Britons! Huzzah Tennesseans! 

You have won fadeless laurels forever and aye — 
You've defeated the war-loving, aggressive plebians 

And destroyed the prestige of Britannia to-day! 

Bishop, III., May 3, 1882. 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 



Born in Ajaccio, on the Island of Corsica, August, 1869. Died on the Island 
of St. Helena, May 5, 1821. 



In Ajaccio, on Corsica's isle, 
When the rocky shore the waves beguile. 
Stands a house not far from the city mart, 
Where lived once Sir Charles Bonaparte; 
And here, on a sultry August morn. 
Earth's greatest martial chief was born. 



Tho' first thro' many trials passed. 
He reached the height of Fame at last; 
He filled the world with panics and fears. 
He deluged Europe in blood and tears; 
For to hold all earthly thrones in scorn. 
Napoleon Bonaparte was born. 



The world first saw him in Toulon's fight, 
There beheld him arrayed in genius bright; 
Then in the thronged Parisian street 
He marched, the fierce canaille to meet. 
At Lodi's bridge, on Italia's plain, 
They saw him bloody victories gain. 



220 The Pagan's Poems. 

They beheld him nest in Egyptian sands, 
Quelling the dauntless Mameluke bands. 
Returning now to his sunny France 
He embarks his all on the sea of chance — 
He overthrows the Imperial throne 
And beggars the kingly robber drone. 

He captures now Marengo's height, 
At Ulm and Jena leads the fight, — 
Of Auerstadt and Eylau now he boasts, 
Now turns to crush the Austrian hosts. 
Wagram is won, and Friedland's plain 
Lies covered with heaps of mangled slain. 

The bearded Russian he scourges now. 
And the " iron crown " rests on his brow. 
His words are law; the nations obey 
As he ruleth the tenor of his way. 
The king of kings ! The peer of peers ! 
He governs Europe for many years. 

And ever near him, awaiting- commands, 
Are the hearts of oak and willing hands 
Of such as Kleber and gallant Ney — 
" The bravest of brave! ''' — and bold Desaix, 
The brawny Soult, the fierce Massena, 
Menou, and Mortier, who bled at Jena. 

Stern old Victor among first and best, 
Moreau and Keilerman among the rest; 
Louis Buonaparte, Junot and Fouche, 
Suchet, the suave, Marmont and Grrouchy^ 
Dupont, Bernadotte, Murat, the vain, 
Eugene, the noble, and Joseph of Spain. 



Miscellaneous. 221 

Misfortune comes sternly to one and all, 
And no man ascends so high he can't fall. 
So we see him defeated, and borne away 
To the Isle of Elba for life to stay; 
He stays one year and then returns. 
And the " allied nations " again he spurns. 

Back to his banner and white cockade 
Comes his war-loving Polish Brigade ; 
Back to him rushes his old command. 
The Imperial Guard — a Spartan band; 
Back to the field where tricolors wave 
Comes "gallant Ney; the bravest of brave." 

And marching now with his stately van 
Comes brawny Soult with his iron clan. 
The army moves on until they come 
To the works at Ligny in Belgium; 
They storm the fortress at Quatre Bras, 
Led by the intrepid Marshal Ney. 

Darkness the vistas of carnage close, 
And the soldiers lie m sweet repose. 
But ere daylight ushers in the morn. 
The drummer's beat and bugler's horn 
Awaken the French — to duty call — 
Napoleon must triumph if millions fall. 

Forward they march ! Each soldier knew 
Their foemen waited at Waterloo. 
*' Beneath the war clouds rolling dun" 
They espied the forces of Wellington 
Drawn up and quite anxious for the fray, 
Calm and serene as the summer day. 



222 The Pagan's Poems. 

Proudly the French advance to the fight, 

Their bayonets gleam in the early light, 

The allied hosts are filled with wonder^ 

They bleed and die while the cannon thunder,' 

Napoleon orders his Son of Mars 

To charge with the fearless L'Hussars. 

Like a thunder-bolt from a clouded sky 
They charge on the guns — they bleed and die ; 
For the allied hosts like Spartans stood 
And covered the fields with fire and blood. 
Defeated, mangled, covered with scars. 
Few, few, return of those fierce hussars. 

Napoleon now calls his battle-scarred 
And orders a charge on the English Guard, 
But, cool and sarcastic as Chatham, 
Wellington orders ""Up Guards, and at 'em!'^ 
Frenchmen could not tarry. In sore defeat 
They seek their safety in wild retreat. 

Napoleon, tho' his heart was stout, 

Is vanquished now; he joins the rout. 

And pushing thro' the terrified van, 

Seeks to escape from the Prussian clan. 

In safety he reaches Fontainebleau, 

But his bravest died ! Great cause for woe I 

Europe now breathes a sigh of relief, 
She fears no longer the daring chief. 
Laughs at the ideas, scorns the law 
Of the greatest man she ever saw. 
Successful Britons! Well may you smile, 
When he's exiled to Helena's isle. 



Miscellaneous. 22S" 

At St. Helena, for six long years, 
They guarded this man of Fate and tears. 
Till the Angel Death came o'er the deep, 
And gave him rest in the dreamless sleep. 
The sleep of Death that knows no waking, 
No sweet sunshine, no storm-clouds breaking. 

He was dead! The proud heart ceased to throb! 
And France gives vent to a choking sob. 
Dead ! An emperor robbed of his throne, 
Lieth in death where the sad waves moan. 
Silent is Earth's grandest martial man ! 
Future, produce his peer, if you can! 

Bishop, III., May 1, 1881. ' 



TO 



A stingy miser man I loathe ! 

A stingy maid I would not love! 
Great Jove! preserve me from them both. 

Place me below or else above 
With him who "makes the goddess groan." 

I want no equal fellowship. 
Nor would I any sweetheart own 

Who would not let me taste her lip. 
You say you will not ? Then let me 

Unshackled go ! I would not dwell 
With you in Heaven ! I'd rather be 

Kissing, in Hades, Lovely L . 

My love is not a love of lewdness. 
For next to women I love goodness! 

Lake Shore, III., Oct. 21, 1883. 



REPLY TO "OLD CITIZEN." 



Thou art indeed a luckless one 

If most all men thy friendship shun; 

There must be some cause. Don't be grieved 

With me for asking how you've lived. 

Has your life been all it might be — 
Stainless and pure, from blemish free? 
Have you answered Poverty's moan? 
Or have you lived for Self alone ? 

Have you avoided subtle tricks? 
Steered clear of duns and politics? 
Have you gave alms with hand divine? 
Have you helped Truth's glad light to shine? 

Lent you a hand to help the weak? 
Wiped you a tear from Sorrow's cheek? 
Are you acquaint with Charity, 
The only virtue of those three? 

If you've observed these every one, 

'Tis strange that men your friendship shun; 

But persevere, and you will find 

A warm friend — in a happy mind! 

You may not boast of gems or ore. 
May not have worldly pelf or store. 
But you can praise with tongue and lip 
The right hand of true fellowship. 

Lake Shoee, III., Jan. 9, 1883. 



^onnei^ 



SONNETS 



TO THE PUBLIC. 



While half the world was clothed in sleep, 

I courted oft Poesy's muse: 
She bade me nightly vigils keep, 

And con in rhyme my thoughts and views. 
She said: "If you true manhood claim — 

If you would light eternal fires. 
Show up man's glory and his shame. 

His sinful weakness and desires — 
Paint not in beatit'ous platitudes 

The virtues few he doth possess. 
And hide his faults. Ingratitude 

Will shrink thy coward conscience less. 
Remember, now, if thou seekest Fame. 
Man hath two phases — glory — shame! 



WHAT? 



Adami, created by Brahm, 

And placed in Ceylon's garden, 
Was shortly brought to grief and shame 
By Heva, who we pardon. 
But we have said, and swore to it. 
Few of her daughters have her grit. 



The Pagan's Poems. 
TO E. E. 



Sweet flower of Love ! fair Beauty's queen, 

This is again thy natal day! 
Thou hast at last found sweet sixteen, 

And may thou sixteen ever stay. 
For aye may snow be on thy brow; 

For aye thy lips be cherries red; 
And may thy silken curls, as now, 

For aye adorn thy pretty head. 
For aye may blisses be thy lot, 

Thy joys swell as the rising tide. 
And may thy faults, if thou hast aught. 

Forever "lean toward Virtue's side!" 
And remember through the future time 
The Pagan who wrote this simple rhyme. 



TO SHAKESPEARE. 



Shakespeare ! Thou mortal half divine ! 

Silent in death, but living still; 
Would thou could'st teach this muse of mine 

My lines with deeper thought to fill ! 
Who dares to seek thy emulation 

In Poesy or Drama's art? 
Whoe'er can hope thy elevation? 

In playing Nature fill thy part? 
Thou prince of human nature's actors, 

Thy feet shall ever tread her stage. 
Thou chief of literary factors. 

Thy works shall live a deathless age ! 
And after the brimstone, hail, and rain. 
Phoenix-like, Shakespeare will rise again. 



Sonnets. 229 

TO LOVELY L. 



Fair maiden! pardon me if I, 
In my way, too familiar be. 
To-niglit, while Luna's hanging high, 

I dedicate these lines to thee ! 
To tell a dream which me befell 

On yesternight. A fact, 'tis true ! 
I dreamed myself bound by a spell 

I could not break whate'er I'd do. 
Methought Dan Cupid said to me, 
"If you would break this magic spell 
Forthwith I'll furnish you the key." 
'^ Giv't me," said I. Said he, " 'T is well. 
Your heart hath departed from its cell 
Unto the keeping of " I won't tell. 



TO ISHMAEL. 



I sing of Ishmael to-night — 

Whoever he may chance to be — 
I often watch him in the fight. 

And hear him called " Humanity." 
Upon his helmet fall the blows 

Of subtle Wealth, Priestcraft, and King; 
I ever hear, where'er he goes. 

Their lances on his armor ring. 
Ishmael^ let me grasp your hand. 

If true thou art Humanity. 
My heart is beating with yours, and 

My hopes are for your victory ! 
Fight on^ brave heart ! for Human Bight 
Must shatter the phalanxes of Might! 



230 The Pagan's Poems. 

TO "MISS JEALOUSY." 



Your lieart 's a miser. It would grasp, 

And ask for more, all coins of Love. 
Within it, with many a clasp 

And lock, you hold Love's treasure-trove. 
And still art stingy. For you ask 

Me to forswear my other loves; 
And to perform this greedy task, 

You tell me they are soiled doves; 
That they are foolish, fickle, blind. 

And mingle with low company, 
And are not suited for a mind 

Like mine. cease thy flattery. 
By St. Cecilia and the Muses nine. 
The one you l^ate the most^ is the most mine! 



TO BURNS. 



Sweet Scotia's bard of blissful love, 

I dedicate this name to thee, 
For thou did'st find Love's treasure-trove. 

And let mankind thy " Vision " see. 
Ye showed its follies and its joys. 

The danger of an amorous kiss. 
The touch that Virtue oft decoys, 

The love that melts in married bliss. 
How nobly woman plays her part. 

How subtle man can her deceive. 
How heartlessly he breaks her heart, 

And leaves her o'er her wrongs to grieve., 
Yea! much thou'st seen, and learned it well. 
Experience taught it thee hersel' ! 



Sonnets. 231 

TO LOVELY L. 



A true republic was my mind, 

No tyrant monarcli here lield sway; 
Here Liberty could ever find 

A refuge, and within it stay. 
But all! a lass of lovely mien 

Laid siege and captured all my troops, 
Made good her title as my queen, 

By binding me witli love-made loops. 
How could I struggle to get free, 

When love and white arms held me fast ? 
In Love I lost my liberty, 

And abdicated power at last. 
Then hail ! the reign of the poet's queen ! 
The sweetest monarchy I e'er had seen! 



TO AN ORGANIST. 



touch those ivory keys again, 

Fair player. Let thy melodies 
Bring out the sweetness of the strain 

That bides in Handel's symphonies. 
For music hath that subtle spell 

Which charms the heart, pleases the ear. 
And lends a soothing sweetness — well, 

A sweetness like thyself, my dear; 
Who hath this music in thy soul, 

How light thy fingers touch the keys ! 
Sweet in my ear thy carols roll. 

Each rivalling, each me well doth please. 
Thou art Orpheus, and thy playing 
For aye would keep my spirit straying! 



232 The Pagan's Poems. 

A QUERY. 



"Does death end all? " That is a question 
I cannot answer, nor can you. 
Beyond the mere uttered suggestion 

Lie mists my eyes cannot see through. 
Immortality of the soul! 
"What is the soul? "" Here preachers'^pause, 
And answer, with a heaven-ward roll 
Of eyes to finish out the clause, 

Did Plato know? Sometimes I think 
I '11 pause beside his logic's stream 
And of its subtle waters drink; 

But then something dispels the dream, 
For from the lips of the wisest fall: 
"Man is but mortal. Death ends all! " 



TO A DUDE. 



Dude! Please come a little nearer. 

And let me thy strange isms court all, 
Tho' there be much 1 value dearer, 

I would know if thou art mortal. 
Gentle Dude! lend me thy glasses, 

That I may observe thy being. 
Thy skull reminds me of an ass's. 

Void of sense save that of seeing. 
Thy speech resembles Darwin's monkey; 

Thy intellect is dwarfed beside. 
I must place thee, gentle donkey, 

Below the ape, whate'er betide. 
I doubted Darwin's dogma nearly, 
But now 'tis demonstrated clearlv. 



SONXETS. 233 

TO . 



Last uiglit we dwelt in Paradise, 

Yet eat not of forbidden fruit; 
Within its gates, beneath its skies, 

We saw no Belzebub astute. 
Why are we banished then, to-night? 

Why is, an edged sword at the gate ? 
Our Paradise was our delight; 

The two-edged sword just now is Fate; 
Our arms were the confining walls. 

But now they cannot stretch the mile 
That 'twixt our daytime exile falls. 

So we lose Eden for a while. 
But before another week 's attained. 
We will see this "Paradise Regained!" 



A MISTAKE. 



Dark, sullen clouds o'erhung the fields, 

Like the grim funeral pall that 's spread 
When Death's chill frost the blood congeals; 

But what cared I ? Within the shed. 
Hidden behind the market cart, 

I waited for sweet Clara Belle. 
She came, I heard her beating heart 
'Fore on my ears her footsteps fell. 
" Sweet Belle," said I, " I'm glad you 're here." 

I hugged her; she expects as much. 
" Grott in Himmel ! " fell on mine ear, 
Ye Muses nine! The girl was Dutch! 
Instead of Belle, it was Wilhelm's frau, 
Who came out to milk the brindle cow! 
16 



234 The Pagan's Poems. 
TO JUDGE B . 



Who declared the Civil Right's Bill unconstitutional. 



The negro is a "nigger" still! 

So you think, Judge. Well, this is sad! 
lio! Sambo can no longer fill 

The white man's place. He smells too bad. 
Does he? Have you forgot his vote? 

Have you forgot the winning way 
He has? And how a dollar note 

Gets him down fine on 'lection day? 
Reverse your ]udgment_, or go west; 

Flee from the nigger wrath to come! 
The "coon" has donned his fighting vest; 

Hark! hear the banjo's trum. 

He tries his "razzer" on his thumb. 
He has the power to drive you to — well. 
If you doubt his strength., just take a smell ! 



^ulu ^emhlet 



A EOMANCE IN EHYME. 



FOUNDED ON SOME OP THE FACTS OF TO-DAY 

AND THE 

FICTION OF TO-MOKROW. 



AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
TO 

MISS LULU GRACE KEPFORD 

A LADY OF THE MOST 

EXQUISITE CHAEACTEE, AMIABLE DISPOSITION AliTD REFUSED 
SENSIBILITY. 

WHOSE LOVE IS THE STAR THAT LEADETH ON TO HIGHER 
ASPIRATIONS AND NOBLER THINGS, 

THE AUTHOR 



LULU KEMBLE. 



CANTO FIRST. 



Nay, tell me not that henceforth our lives must severed be, 
Altho' stern Fate hath sent forth an immovable decree! 
It cannot reach beyond this to that land beyond the sea; 
It cannot blight the sweet bliss of an eternity! 

—Lulu Q. Kepford. 



Fast the heavy dews were falling o'er a thousand braided 
bowers, — 

Sweet the humid air was teeming with the scent of sum- 
mer flowers; 

Coy the silv'ry stars were peeping from behind the fleecy 

clouds, 
While the sad and mellow moonbeams robed the trees in 

snowy shrouds. 

In that silence born of twilight, when the last day- 
gleam is hid. 

And the weird notes of the poor-will echo those of katy- 
did; 

When Morpheus throws his mantle over half the dark- 
ened world. 

And the tired sails of human barques for sweet repose 
are furled, 



240 The Pagan's Poems. 

Slowly stealing thro' tlie shadows toward a rustic ivied 

bower, 
Was a youth who seemed intent as tho' some fascinating 

power 

Dwelt within the vine-clad portal, and with sweetest siren 

song 
Charming angel, de'il, or mortal, hade him come, nor tarry 

long. 

Now he pauses in that darkness_, lit alone by glow-worms' 

gleam. 
Uttering a mystic signal not unlike a night-hawk's 

scream. 

Ere the three shrill notes are echoed, there appears, as by 
command, 

Thro' the rich green ivy cluster a small, snow-white^ jew- 
eled hand. 

Thrice it waves. The crouching figure in the shadow of 

the firs 
Joins his love within the bower and his lips have met 

with hers, 

"Now, Rob, quit your silly kissing; I can but a moment 
stay. 
For the folks may find me missing; are you really going 
away?" 

Said the maiden, coyly gazing, in the young man's sun- 
browned face, 
" Are you really going to Texas ? Is it such a jolly 
place?"" 



Lulu Kemble. 241 

" Yea, Sweet Lulu, I am going, and won't be back for many 
years. 
Ob, quit crying! I was joking! Let me kiss away tbose 
tears. 

''I of course will go to Texas; but wliat difference will 
tbat make? 
I would never make tbe venture if it were not for your 
sake. 



"I can never rise to power — never rise to wealth or fame, 
Here, I must remain a farmer, without knowledge, with- 
out name. 

"Lulu, let me choose the better — better for your sake and 
mine — 
For I cannot, 'will not., stifle every breath of truth divine. 

"Here, your father tracks and hounds me; calls me worth- 
less infidel, 
Just because I'm independent, and my honest thoughts 
will tell. 

*' He has even told you harshly you must ne'er more speak 
my name. 
Or have correspondence with me — shun me as a child of 
shame. 

"But wait, darling! Time brings changes, and let's hope 
our skies be fair; 
There are joys within the future just as well as grief and 
care. 



242 The Pagan's Poems. 

" I will start southwest next Monday, and likely stop in 
Iowa, 
Schools are plenty, teachers wanted, so the Hawkeye 
papers say; 

"And last night I had a letter from my old teacher at 

B -, 

Says he 's going to give his school up and will intercede 
for me; 

" He'll resign his post on New Year, and instruct a higher- 
school, 
He has always been a true friend, doubtless learned the 
" golden rule." 

" He said this would be an opening if I ever wished to* 
teach, 
And as it is in his power he will place it in my reach. 

"Don't you think our sky looks brighter? " and the young 
man laughed aloud 
As he finished his preamble. O'er the girl's face passed a 
cloud. 

"Rob, dear," said she, gazing sadly in the young man's 
reckless face, 
Altho' the thought of parting left a seeming solemn 
trace, 

" You are oldest, you know better what is best for you and 
me. 
And if Fate hath so decreed it, I will bow to her decree. 



Lulu Kemble. 243 

" And father informed me yestre'en that your visits here 
must cease, 
And if you 'd insist on coming you must pay for your 
caprice. 

" 0, Rob, dear, what is the reason that our love must be 
debarred ? 
I alone here, and you roaming, like some mortal evil- 
starred; 

"Here, with riches, I sit weeping, all my bright hopes 
screened in dread; 
Tell me not the love I bear you after parting will be 
dead! 

^'And, Rob, tell me not that henceforth our lives must 
severed be, 
Altho' stern Fate' may have sent forth an immovable 
decree ; 

"For it cannot reach beyond this to the 'land beyond the 
sea;' 
It cannot blight the sweet bliss of an eternity! 

" It seems to me, thus far our lives are of Hope and Mem'ry 
made, 
Tho' the Hope is bright as morning's light. Memory hath 
sadness' shade; 

" Mem'ry is sweet to those who love when it is filled with 
gladness ; 
But, Rob, has ours been so filled? Nay, it is tinged with 
sadness." 



244 The Pagan's Poems. 

''Well, never mind," said lie, kindly, ''I am sure the time 
will come 
When I shall have power and riches and you for queen of 
home." ' 

Just then the shrubhery rustled. Lulu with start and 

tremble. 
Gasped "Pa!" In the arbor hustled her father DeWitt 

Kemble, 

"Ha, Lu, you here? cooing, billing, like a sick dove with a 
hawk!" 
Said he fiercely; then called, "Here, Ring!" Rob thus 
far stood like a stock. 

^' Here, Ring! " once again called Kemble, as he turned with 
flashing eyes. 
Rob had reason for to tremble, for a dog of monstrous 

size 

Leaped into the arbor, eager to obey Kemble's com- 
mand. 

From Lu's bosom flashed a dagger, presto! it was in Rob's 
hand. 

Not too soon. The mastiff's eyes gleamed in his own; he 

felt his breath; 
A flash, a blow — then the blood streamed and the canine 

sunk in death. 

Speechless Kemble stood a moment at this unexpected 

deed, 
Then he hissed, " The de'il be in it, for this act your heart 

will bleed!" 



Lulu Kemble. 245 

"Likely, Kemble," said Rob coldly, tben embraced the 
frightened girl — 
Kissed her cheek, then uttered boldly, " When you wish 
your venom hurl; 



"Loose on me alone the torrent; do to me, if aught ye 
do; 
Vent on me your spleen abhorrent — let me bear the 
cross for Lu." 

"Lulu," said her father, "leave us!" She left. Altho' 
stepping light 
Her heart was heavy. A greivous look crossed Kemble's 
yisage white. 

Rob turned coolly, " Grood-night, Kemble ! I alone respect 

your age. 
So I leave you, sir, to tremble in the whirlwind of your 

rage." 

Thro' the shadows he departed. To the dog the master 

turns ; 
The defeat which first had smarted, now with intense fury 

burns. 

But the leaping flame of passion dies away within his 

breast, 
And, as it is Nature's fashion, aft' the storm he seeketh 

rest. 

Sought the silence of his chamber and the softness of his 

bed, 
Where Morpheus overpowers e'en the sad that mourn 

their dead. 



246 The Pagan's Poems. 

DeWitt Kemble was a farmer, ricli in most thiags of the 

world, 
The husband of a splendid wife, and the father of six 

girls. 

Madeline, a perfect coquette. Lulu, fairest of the fair, 
Laughing Jean, and gold -haired Chloris, modest Kate 
and tricky Clare. 

Never was a couple prouder of the lot decreed by Fate 
In the way of lovely daughters than this farmer and his 
mate. 

And it was their fond desire that their dears might 

wedded be 
To the scions of a kingly race, like that beyond the sea. 

Aye! Or they might marry a countryman if he had acres 

broad; 
At least a reverend clergyman who taught the Word of 

God. 

Now Madeline bade fair to fill her parent's fond desire, 
For suitors high and rich came oft to flatter and admire. 

But sober Lulu, loveliest maid, passed all these suitors by, 
And in life's commoner walks beheld the " apple of her 
eye." 

He was a strong-limbed farmer boy, with an orphan's her- 
itage. 

But, as his fellow-workers said^ " uncommon peart for his 
age." 



Lulu Kemble. 247 

He liad come from an eastern city and settled in Illinois 

State, 
With the firm set resolution of becoming rich and great. 



He had worked on the farm for Kemble, and met his 

daughter Lu, 
And being thus thrown together, friendship to deeper love 

grew. 

They were, Sundays, constant companions from morn till 

dewy eve, 
And shortly the country people did their names together 

weave. 



But whenever the country gossip Miss Lulu's praises sung, 
Rob Jackson received a '' lashing " from the same dissem- 
bling tongue. 

Thus for over a year unnoticed by Kemble's jealous eyes. 
Our lovers dwelt in a sweeter realm than Milton's Para- 
dise. 

But alas! for them; the spoiler came, and the deputy of 

Fate, 
From affection's Eden banished them, and strove to bar 

the gate. 

But you 've heard " love laughs at locksmiths," well, this 

was our lovers' case, 
And for this reason they were found in their midnight 

trysting place. 



248 The Pagan's Poems. 

He saw in the lovely Lulu the incarnation of good; 
She saw a bold young cavalier in him who before her 
stood. 



Foremost among Lulu's suitors bold, who sought her heart 
and hand, 

Was one who had Apollo's face, and the wit of Talley- 
rand. 



He was young, wealthy, and gallant_, owning acres stretch- 
ing far; 

Lulu's father from his heart wished she would marry 
Brace Lamar. 



But fair Lulu looked upon him only as her father's friend, 
And accepted, with reluctance, the nice gifts he chose to 
send. 

For her father had commanded that his proffered flowers 
and books 

Should at all times be accepted with kind thanks and lov- 
ing looks. 



Brace Lamar, howe'er, regarded Jackson with no kindly 

eye. 
For Jackson, in a rustic brawl, once had smote him hip 

and thigh. 

And when Lu, tho' loving peace, had learned the causes 

of the fight. 
Brace received the consolation that Rob Jackson served 

him right. , 



Lulu Kemble. 249 

Now it liappened in the morning following the incident 
Which has been before narrated, Brace Lamar to Kemble's 
went, 

And pausing at the mansion door, overheard with much 

delight, 
Kemble to his wife recounting the affair of yesternight. 

^'So, Rob Jackson's going to Texas," Lamar chuckled to 

himself; 
" He will go and win himself a name, and likely worldly 

pelf. 

"Well, my best wishes go with him," giving his moustache 

a twirl, 
"But, egad! I'll play my cards fine^ and confiscate the girl. 



" I know Jackson has the Yankee grit to be a man of brains. 
And he who crosses swords with him must suffer for his. 
pains. • 

" But Brace Lamar, egad, has money, and money has the 
power 
To defy this subtle Yankee, and pluck his prairie flower.""" 



While Lamar was thus soliloquizing. Lulu ope'd the door,, 
And seeing who the caller was, cast her eyes upon the 
floor. 

And coolly bade him enter in, and remove his coat and hat. 
With a half-forced laugh he seized her hand and pointed 
to the mat: 
17 



250 The Pagan's Poems. 

"There's Welcome on the mat," said he, "cannot you bid 

me the same? " 
"Oh! I suppose so," said she frigidly, "because your name 



"Is papa's by- word, and I believe he 'd by it swear; 
Just step into the parlor, sir, you '11 find my papa there." 



" No, thanks," said he, " I merely called a few words to 
speak to you; 
There will be a fishing party next Thursday at the slough, 



"And I should be immensely pleased to have your company; 
That, Miss Kemble, is my business here, will you accom- 
p ny me r 



" Oh, I suppose so; many thanks, sir, for your remembrance 
kind; 
If you please to call on Thursday morning, me you '11 
ready find. 



" Yes, the morning is delightful ! would be pleased to have 
you stay; 
Oh no! I shall not insist as you have other work. Grood 
day!" 

As he turned away she could not help but curl her lip in 

scorn. 
And sneeringly say: "My escapade he surely heard this 

morn. 



Lulu Kemble. 251 

" But what care I for Brace Lamar, his houses, servants, or 
land? 
There's one I love — my Jackson true! he has my heart 
and hand! 



" And e'en tho' it should break proud hearts, I '11 ne'er turn 
him away; 
Go, thrushes dear, sing in his ear, and sing what you've 
heard me say! " 



CANTO SECOND. 



But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom has tied. 
Or like tlie snow falls on the river, 
A moment white, then melts forever; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
Evanishiug amid the storm. 

— Burns. 



'Twas to sluggish Illinois banks the fishing party drew, 
Where the placid shaded waters bore the name of " Ha- 
ven's Slough." 



^&^ 



Here the lassies spread the table-cloth while laddies cast 

the line 
Beside a crystal, bubbling spring, sweeter far than Tokay 

wine. 



In a pretty skiff, the "Fairy Shell," sat Jackson and 

Lamar - — 
Bob was trolling. Brace was rowing^ anon smoking a 

ciarar. 



Brace Lamar had met with Jackson as from Kemble's he 

went home. 
And kindly told him of the party, inviting him to come. 



Lulu Kemble. 253 

" For Miss Lulu Avill be present," said Brace with a savage 

smile. 
"Now come, Jackson, she'll expect you!" with a laugh he 

crossed the stile. 

So to-day they fished together. Brace seeming uncommon 

kind; 
K-ob, with honest friendship, thinking not of schemes that 

lay behind. 

"Rob, old boy," said Lamar kindly, "the}^ tell me you're 
going west; 
I hate to see you go away, but you know your business 
best. 

" What do you intend to follow? " "Follow? why I don't 
know yet," 
Said Jackson. " I suppose the first and best thing I can 
get." 

" How would ranching strike your fancy? I've an interest 
in a herd 
Feeding now in southwest Texas; if 'twould suit you, say 
the word, 

" For to-night I '11 make arrangements^ and to-morrow we 
• will leave/' 
Said Brace; Jackson turned his face, and Lamar chuckled 
in his sleeve. 

Brace continued: " You and Lulu stay to-night with Jean 

and I; 
Stay at Grray's till dark, that Kemble may not see you 

passing by. 



254 The Pagan's Poems. 

" I '11 tell Kemble, Jean, my cousin^ wanted Lu to stay all 
night; 
He, of course^, will not suspicion, and we '11 get this thing 
all right." 

" You 're a daisy, Brace, old fellow/' and Rob, choking, gave 
his hand. 
Then reeled his line, for the ^' Fairy Shell " had kissed the 
marge's sand, 

Where lovely Lu, with roguish glance, stood waiting with 
a stick, 
" Oh, you awful boys," said she, ''now wash, and come to 
dinner quick!" 

Soon seated by the table, spread upon the velvet grasses, 
Were half a score of jolly boys, and just as many lasses. 



Now, of all griefs that overwhelm us, what is there that 

can steal 
-Them in a more seductive way than a jolly woodland meal. 



You may talk about your lovely girls, with bonny hair 
and eyes. 

With cherry lips as pure and sweet as the fruits of Para- 
dise; 

You may talk of queens and houris, but we '11 take for 

woe and weal. 
That, lovely girl, that spotless pearl, that can cook a good 

square meal. 



Lulu Kemble. 255 

Loving ladies, gentle reac'c", is your poet's grandest fault, 
For we believe with Voll^dro,* that of this life they are 
the salt. 

The soft embrace, the sweeter kiss, is heaven for the sin- 
ners ; 

We 'd leave our book to kiss the cook, but hardly leave 
our dinners. 

In accordance with the subtle scheme which cunning 
Brace had laid, 

Rob accompanied home the Misses Grray, and until twi- 
light stayed. 

And just as the distant city clock was striking the hour of 

eight, 
He kissed the cheek of his charming Lu within the 

schemer's gate. 

Ah! how splendidly he passed the night with Lulu, Brace^ 

and Jean, 
Till the rosy streaks of sunny light athwart the east were 

seen. 

For once, thief-like, he loved the night, and dreaded re- 
turning day. 

Which would banish him from her he loved, who knew 
but what for aye! 

On the morrow when Ormuzd came forth^ the victor of 

the fight, 
And closed again the glassy slopes with his glimmerings 

of light; 

* Women are not only men's repose, but his joy — the salt of his \Me.— Voltaire. 



256 The Pagan's Poems. 

When the skylark joyously arose above the meadows fair, 
And ladened with carols soft and sweet the half-enchanted 
air; 

When the dewdrop on the daisy's* breast shrank from the 

sun away, 
And the robin sang, exultingly, its tender matin lay; 

When the maple's coat was crimsoning before the autumn 

breeze — 
(How few have thought of lessons taught b}^ these mute, 

these tongueless trees.) 

( There 's pathos deeper in fading leaves than human lips 

can speak, 
It touches the heart and brings a tear to glisten on the 

cheek; 

It says: "You who now are beautiful must wither and 
fade away; 

Must turn to mold on the bosom cold of clammy, dream- 
less clay.") 

On the morrow, mystic morrow, ere the shadows eastward 

fell; 
Ere the noonday air resounded with the soulful dinner 

bell; 

Brace and Jackson parted company with fair Jean and 

lovely Lu, 
Loving forms from loving eyes were soon in distance lost 

to view. 

'■' Michaelmas daisy. 



Lulu Kemble. 257 

Soon tlie iron horse, with shriek and snort, was rushing 

o'er the plain, 
Bearing many a heart that beat with joy, a few bursting 

with pain. 

Aye! one of each class together sat within the self-same 

car, 
We recognize them — moody Jackson and talkative Lamar. 



Now the train is gliding rapidly along the river's brink, 
Keeping time in tiresome rhyme, klinkity klink, klinkity 
Mink! 

Shaking, quaking, music-making, high and low, ebb and 

flow, 
Friends leave taking, fond hearts breaking, singing low 

its joy or woe. 

O'er the prairie like a fairy, gleam and glide from side to 
side, 

Rocking sadly, screaming madly, man hath vied its vain- 
less pride! 

Lo! still it speeds^ this steed of steeds, over meads and 

through ravineS; 
Steaming, gleaming, hissing, flying, meter-changing with 

the scenes. 



Often stopping, loading, dropping here and there a burden 

fair^ 
Here a mother, there a brother, sister, father, wedded pair. 



258 The Pagan's Poems. * 

Yerdant grangers, gamblers^ rangers, common thieves and 

congressmen. 
Every nation, every '"station, verges in our traveler's ken. 



But on looking out tlie window, grander panoramas sweep. 
To the right hand speeds the river^ purling, whirling, 
eddied deep. 

Here and there the margins overhung with a myriad o£ 

flowering vines, 
Underneath sit patient anglers watching carefully their 

lines. 



And anon white sandy beaches strewn with shells and 

drifted wood_, 
Stretch beside us. Here are ruins where a fisher's cottage 

stood. 



In a mighty drift lodged near it are the fragments of a. 

skiff. 
Just behind it, like a giant i^owning," stands a rocky cliff. 



On the left hand stretch out fertile fields of yellow ripen- 
ing corn, 

Or sprouting wheat^ dotted with stacks, for Cornucopia's 
horn 



Has showered upon the husbandman the blessings it doth 
hold, 

And lined his honest, worthy palm with glittering, shin- 
ing gold. 



Lulu Kemble. 259 

Here tliey pass a country sclioolliouse snug ensconced be- 
neath the hill, 

Near it, sparkling in the sunlight, gleams a tiny, rippling 
rill; 

Barefoot boys with upturned trousers wade it, playing 

boyish pranks; 
Tender buds, to bloom as women, loiter on its em'rald 

banks. 



'Neath the oak-tree on the playground two urchins engage 

in fight. 
Other boys rush from all quarters to observe the novel 

siffht. 



But the steel steed finds no interest in tarrying awhile, 
And, ere the teacher parts the boys, they have won an- 
other mile. 

Now they pass a cemetery with its solemn,, sombre spell, 
Its resting palaces of those ones that once were loved so 
well; 

Its marble pillars and granite shafts rise regal, serene, 

lone, 
Bearing the names of voiceless dust graved upon its 

sculptured stone. 

We have left the river country and now ragged hills 

appear; 
Night on noiseless wings approaches and the pale moon 

rises clear. 



260 The Pagan's Poems. 

Brace, contented, woos tlie goddess from her lord, Mor- 
pheus' arms ; 

Rob sits thinking of his future and of Lulu Kemble's 
charms. 



Hark! A dreadful crash! A woman's shriek pierces the 
evening air, 

It fell upon Rob Jackson's ear like the keynote of des- 
pair; 

The engine whistled fiercely, the sleeping passengers 

awoke. 
The train slacked up — once again a woman's scream the 

silence broke. 

Rob was first to reach the spot from whence the cry of 

anguish pealed. 
He saw a sight which for a moment almost his blood 

congealed: 

Before him in a mass confused, lay a man, two girls, a 

team, 
The wagon smashed in countless pieces, then rent another 

scream. 

Quick he stooped and raised the fragile form from which 

escaped the cries, 
Lamar came up and curtly said, "Grad! a nymph from 

Paradise!" 

Then turned, and with other passengers helped to clear 

the wreck away. 
While Jackson, upon his overcoat the swooning girl did 



Lulu Kemble. 261 

Then rushing to a neighboring brook dipped water in his 

felt, 
And hurrying back sprinkled her face, then down beside 

her knelt, 

Chafing her hands, her wrists, her brow, with a strange 

anxiety. 
Until the feverish flush of life upon her face saw he. 



There she lay, coming again to life, her bosom heaving 

slow^ 
Decked with satin and orange blossoms, white as the 

driven snow, 

More like a princess lying in state under that spreading 

tree 
Than the bride's maid of an hour ago, as Rob found her 

to be. 

She ope'd her eyes, gazed upon Rob with a wild and 

frightened stare, 
With a tiny white hand pushed she back her golden, 

glossy hair. 

"Where am I?" said she, with trembling voice, a voice as 
low and sweet 
As Lulu Kemble's. "Why am I here? Please help me 
to my feet." 

"Lie still," said Rob, "you're hurt^ I fear; your team was 
struck by the train. 
The wagon smashed, the horses killed, and you thrown 
out. Have you pain ? " 



262 The Pagan's Poems. 

Said he, as she strove to rise but with a groan sank back 
again, 
•'Oh, no!" said she, but they're dead., my cousin Bess and 
Harmon Lane." 

Jackson, turning, saw them lying on the soft grass calm 
and white, 

Silent, still as fallen statues in the soft, serene moon- 
light. 

Standing by them were the passengers that took them 

from the wreck; 
Brace Lamar came quickly forward in reply to Jackson's 

beck. 

The girl, fainting at this moment, did not hear the words 

of dread 
That came in answer to Rob's query, "Yes," said Brace, 

'''they are dead! 

"That young Grerman fellow yonder_, walking in the forest 
glade, 
Is their neighbor; he is going to their home for other 
aid." 

When the faintness again vanished the girl ope'd her 

azure eyes. 
And to Jackson's several questions with alacrity replies: 



*^ They're my cousins; they were married only one short 
hour ago, 
I was bride's maid; we were going home — the rest — Oh, 
God! — you know. 



Lulu Kemble. 263 

" With my cousin I've been staying on a visit here since 
spring- 
In North Iowa is my home, and my name is Eliese 
King." 

At that moment scores of neighbors came in wagons to 

the scene, 
And with tender hands they lifted np the corpses from 

the green; 

And upon a leafy litter, made of plaited hickory boughs, 
They bore Miss King with all tenderness that sympathy 
allows. 

As Jackson, apart, was looking after the retreating band, 
He saw, above the litter, waving adieu, her tiny hand. 

The engine whistled, each passenger again resumed his 

seat. 
Once again the noisy steed resumed his grand progressions 

fleet. 

Brace Lamar soon entered dreamland; Jackson^ smoking 

his cigar 
Sat"in meditation silent, gazing on the Northern Star. 

On the star discerning fancy saw two faces blending 

tremble — 
Gold hair, blue eyes — brown hair, blue eyes — Eliese King 

and Lulu Kemble. 

But fair Lulu's shineth longer, tho' Eliese's Grerman face. 
Rudely banished from his day-dreams, in his night-dreams 
finds a place. 



264 The Pagan's Poems. 

"She's as beautiful," said Brace Lamar, on the ensuing 
morn, 
"As Lulu Kemble, whom I thought the loveliest ever 
born." 



"Her form is among the loveliest that ever swept my 
view," 
Said Jackson, " but I rather think the princess of all is 
Lu! 



"But yet — Hang sweet Eliese's face! I 'most felt Cupid's 
dart. 
For when she waved a parting hand it touched the cords 
of my heart." 



CANTO THIRD. 



Learn wisdom then. The frequent feast avoid, for there, with stealthy tread, 
Temptation walks, to lure you on till death at last the banquet spread. 
And shun, oh, shun, the enchanted cup, though now the draught like joy appears, 
Ere long it will be fanned by sighs, and sadly mixed by blood and tears. 

— Anon. 



In due time our brawny worthies readied the Pecos' sunny- 
slopes, 
Where they halted, each indulging in his respective hopes. 



Brace Lamar's: that some years' absence would, no doubt^ 

change Lulu's love. 
Rob's: that Fate might on him smile, enabling him his 

vows to prove. 



Far as the eye could penetrate east, slick-sided cattle fed, 
On the west a snow-capped mountain above its fellows 
raised its head. 



Near, the purling Pecos, freighted here and there with 

birch canoe. 
Reflects back a fishing red man of a deeper copper hue. 
18 



266 The Pagan's Poems. 

Swarthy rustlers, mustang-mounted, issue from the chap- 
par el. 

From the forest, close behind them, comes the cow-boys' 
lusty yell. 

One glance backward cast the rustlers, then the blood- 
dyed spurs sink deep, 

And their jaded steeds rush by us as the pent tide's loos- 
ened sweep. 

Close upon them, like grim death, the wild pursuing herd- 
ers press; 

Turn our steeds and let us follow till we find them in du- 
ress. 

The game's afoot! 'Tis human game, and human blood 
must pay 

These heartless hunters for their chasing — here "moun- 
tain laws " hold sway. 

Nearer, nearer, gain we on them^ how the warm winds fan 

our cheeks! 
Fierce, exultant, yells the cow-boy; not a word the rustler 

speaks. 

Above the din and tumult we hear a carbine's spiteful 

crack. 
And the hindmost rustler's mustang falters, falling in his 

track. 

In a moment, ere the fallen rogue can draw a second 

breathy 
We sweep o'er him, but a rancher's aim has left him cold 

in death. 



Lulu Kemble. 267 

The pursued, ha! we are on tlieni, as they turn like hunted 

stags; 
Or as eagles meet the nester when he scales their native 

crags. 

'Tis the meeting of the thunderbolt with an electric spark! 
'Tis the striking of a monsoon when it overtakes the 
barque ! 

""Tis the striking of Thor's hammer as the rocks he doth 

assail ! 
Or an avalanche's vengeance, only on a smaller scale. 



Farewell, rustlers! Ah, we fear, dead sirs, ye ne'er more 

can fare well, 
Ye such tragic parts can play no more in such a tragic 

spell. 

Tho' we canonize but heroes, ye the hero's courage had, 
More 's the pity, that such courage lived in hearts of men 
so bad. 

Now, since the excitement 's over, bearded cowboys gather 

near 
Brace and Jackson, and our worthies gaze in awe, or half 

in fear. • 



Rob, howe'er, makes explanation, and, with Brace, sighs a 
relief. 

When one, laughing, says, " Senor Lamar, I am your cow- 
boys' chief. 



268 The Pagan's Poems. 

" My men and I did tliese rustlers chase from early morn 
till now, 
But we got tliem and feel well paid, they '11 steal no more, 
I vow.' 



"There, Pedro, drop that antelope! Bravo! your arm's still 
staunch ; 
Stake the plugs ; we '11 eat our dinner now, then seek 
affain the ranch." 



Riding hack close to the forest's edge, they picketed their 

steeds. 
And soon with spitted antelope satisfied their common 

needs. 

The steak, though not so nicely served as Delmonico could 

boast. 
Was, judging by the relish shown, an exceeding royal 

roast. 

Jackson feasted_, half enraptured by the wild romantic 

scene; 
A motley group, indeed, was gathered around him on the 

green. 

Near Lamar sat JuanCampana, the dashing cowboy chief; 
A brave rider, a dead shot, a terror to the cattle thief. 



Near Campana sat Gonzales, a fierce snake-eyed Creole; 
Near him, sprawling on the ground, lay Ivan Davilitch, a 
Pole. 



Lulu Kemble. 269 

Close by Rob sat Matthew Saiif ord^ once a cashier of New 

York, 
And leaning 'gainst a mesquit tree stood Pat Finnerty, of 

Cork. 

Pedro, a greaser, two Yankees, three half-breeds, and a 

Scot, 
Finished out the band of cowboys, an interesting lot. 

Most all listened with indifference as Brace to Campana 
told 

Of his journey to the southwest, and its happenings man- 
ifold. 



But when Jackson from his satchel drew a flask of Bour- 
bon fine, 

And handed it to Finnerty, how their seeming dull eyes 
shine. 

O'er Pat's honest face a broad grin swept, and a twinkle 

'scaped his eye. 
He bowed to all, then said to Bob, " Here 's looking at ye, 

me bhoy." 

What an influence hath the devil that a bottle hides; 
How cunningly is laid the snare where the knave of knaves 
abides. 



How jovial are the comrades when they drink of Satan's 

well! 
But look within the curb, my friend, you ''11 catch a 

glimpse of hell! 



270 The Pagan's Poems. 

Thou lovely devil ! distilled sorrow, what pictures you can 

paint; 
Would that Man, with all his weakness, with you ne''er 

been acquaint. . 

Would your blighting hand had never touched the human 

brain divine — 
(Will I take something? Aye! thanks! a little syrup, 

please, in mine.) 

Thou ruby viper. Wine ! How, to their sorrow, men adore 

thee; 
How they meet Momus divine, then quarrel and jangle 

o'er thee! 

We '11 have none of thee, red demon^ with thy sly seduc- 
tive ways; 

For, altho' you please men's palates, you have held them 
down i^Aree days. 

When again the cowboys mounted to pursue their home- 
ward way, 
"Patrick," said the chief, Campana, "these men go with us 
to-day. 

" They can ride the rustlers^ mustangs; you may take the 
others back; 
They borrowed them at Brackettville, they belong to one- 
armed Jack." 

" Brace," said Jackson, " take my satchel^ I'll jog back with 

Finnerty." 
" You 're a gintleman," says Pat; " I 'm glad I met the likes 

o' ye." 



Lulu Kemble. 271 

Turning eastward, Pat aiiu Jackson o'er the prairie dashed 
away, 

Passing by the little hollow where the slaughtered rust- 
lers lay. 

" Gobs," said Pat, "■ that divil 's living," and he whipped his 

pistol out; 
" But he '11 nivir live to crawl away while Finnerty's about." 

"Hold," said Jackson, "please don't shoot him; let me ask 
the rogue his name; 
For to murder him in cold blood, Pat, would be a burning 
shame." 

Rob dismounted from his horse, and to the wounded man 

drew near. 
The fellow ope'd his eyes, but showed not the slightest 

sign of fear. 

But giving Rob and Pat a look which showed hatred unto 

death, 
He gripped the handle of his bowie and drew it from its 

sheath. 

"Hold!" said Rob, "I'm not a thief, nor came I back to 
see you die; 
But saw you moving, heard you groaning, as I was riding 
by. 

"I'll assist you; is there anything that I can do for you?" 
" Yes," said he, '^ go away, and leave me stare, till death, 
•the heavens blue. 



272 The Pagan's Poems. 

" I 'm an eagle^ let me die with my eye upon the snn; 
Go again with your young army, and ride down some 
other one ! 



^' There were twelve of you, three of us; we were whipped, 
but what's the odds? 
Jesu ! I 've a wife and daughter in the ' Garden of the 
Gods; " 



"Have you any message," said Rob, "to your wife and 

child to send?" 
■'Yes," said he, "that of the string of life at last I've 

reached the end. 



" Tell them that a cowboy shot me, you came by and saw 
me die; 
That I sleep in Pecos' valley; but, please, do not tell them 
tvhy. 

" Stranger, once I was an honest man; that was some years 
ago; 
I had a good position then, but I fell from grace, you 
know. 



"I loved whisky; curses on it! It's the keystone of all woe, 
It has dragged my soul from Heaven, sinking it in Hell 
below! 



"If I'd listened to my mother's voice which said to me 
"Beware!" 
I would never have fallen into temptation's snare; 



Lulu Kemble. 273 

*'But too late! too late! my life's blood stains the withered 
prairie grass; 
Ah ! Ave can never live again the hours that by us pass ! 

^'My name is Walter Somerset; I was once a county clerk 
In the commonwealth of Maryland, but whisky did its 
work. 

*' I fled, — my bondsman followed me, but he sleeps beneath 
the sods, 
I killed and buried him one day in the ' Garden of the 
Gods; 

"I married a ranchman's daughter then, that's twenty 
years ago; 
I tried to brace up and be a man because she loved me 
so. 

"We have one daughter, Susie, she is eighteen years old 
to day, — 
Oh, God! It would break her gentle heart to hear the 
words I say, 

"I am a wealthy ranchman; I made it robbing other men; 
Among the Colorado hills I've a herd would fill your ken. 

"I'm a King in Colorado, here; a "rustler" on the sods, 
Farewell to those who love and wait in the ' Garden of 
the Gods!' 

" And farewell, stranger, fare-thee-well ! we again will 
never meet; 
Do not touch me; leave me lie here with the rank grass 
as my sheet. 



274 The Pagan's Poems. 

"You will tell my loved ones of me? You will keep the 
rest I said? 
You will — you will — " His breathing ceased; one gasp 
and he was dead! 

Jackson left him as he wished and silently they rode 

away. 
Finally the spell was broken by the guileless Finnerty: — 

"Gobs! That fellow was a bad man from the ^Grarden av 
the Gods,'' 
For his sowl, be gobs ! I b'lave ould Nick ud rather take 
the odds. 

" Now, I'll bet you forty drinks av tay that prilgrim is'nt 
dead; 
He's wounded purty bad, I'll 'low, but he has a, level 
head. 

"I happen to knoiv him; he is a King ; Barton King's his 
name ; 
He's the slickest thafe in Texas, but I understand his 
game. 

" He tuk us both fur tender-fate, and tried to work upon 
our hearts; 
' I've seen him play his games afore; Och! he understhands 
his parts. 

" You bet yer loife he's slick, me bhoy, fer he is the fraud 
of frauds, 
Why, gobs ! me bhoy ! There not one ranche in the ' Gar- 
den av the Gods ! ' 



Lulu Kemble. 275 

" Now we'll stake our nags beliind this knoll and go back 
there agin, 
I will warrant yees Bart. King's 0. K., except a little 
pain. 

" Now git down on yer hunkers, bhoy, be careful what ye 
do, 
Fer if that pilgrim gits a chance he'll let daylight shine 
thro' you." 

Rob felt skeptical. He thought the man was dead beyond 

all doubt. 
But then, thought he, this Finnerty surely knows what 

he's about. 

So he crept cautiously along beside of versatile Pat, 
Till Finnerty whispered in his ear, "Be gobs! an' how is 
that?" 

Rob's eye followed where Pat scarce could point for laugh- 
ing so. 

Behold ! Bolt upright sat the corpse of one short hour 
ago. 

His carbine rested on his knees; his bowie was in his 

hand; 
There he sat, indeed a hearty corpse, a rustler, a brigand. 

Pat drew his pistol. Rob said nothing. Then came a 

whip-like crack. 
And he who cunningly feigned dying, was dying, for a 

fact. 



276 The Pagan's Poems. 

They arose; walked back behind tbe knoll and mounted 

once again; 
All night they rode, but in the morning at Bracketville 

drew rein. 

Thro'out the sultry day they slept, but when came even- 

ingtide 
And fair Luna once again looked down upon the prairies 

wide, 

When Dame Nature spread her dewy mantle, glossy, 

sparkling damp, 
They retraced the beaten trail which led toward the 

mountain camp. 

When Finnerty related their event with cunning King, 
The laugh it raised at Rob's expense made the sombre 
forests ring. 



Jackson noticed tho''^ when Pat declared, "Be gobs! I 

saled King's sight," 
That the snake-like eyes of the creole gleamed with a 

savage light. 

In a few days Rob on duty went, as agent for Lamar^ 
And when Brace bade him "Good bye!" between the pufEs 
of his cigar 

He said, " Jackson, you must watch yourself among these 

lances free, " 
For the way things now are running here, is far from 

pleasing me. 



LuLV Kemble. 277 

" If you cliance to notice things are not just what they 
ought to be, 
Drive the herd to San Antonio and telephone to me. 



" I'll arrange it with my partners and just tell them how it 
stands, 
And at the proper time you'll have proper power in your 
hands. 



"Good-bye!" and Brace, walking off, spake to himself with 

silent lip, 
" I'll offer Rob these temptations, and the chances are he'll 

skip." 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Never yet 
Share of Truth was vainly set 

In the vi^orld's wide fallow; 
After hands shall sow the seed, 
After hands, from hill and dale, 
Reap the harvest yellow. 

— Whittier. 



"Is it but three months," said Lulu, "since my dear Rob 
took his leave? 
Let me see! 'Twas near September's end, and this is 
Christmas eve; 



" Only three months ! For goodness sake, how slowly time 
passes me! 
How happy chime those passing bells ! I wish my heart 
was as free. 



"I wonder why Rob does not answer the letter I wrote 
him, 
I've watched for an answer so long that my eyes are 
growing dim. 

"Oh! just to think he has been away for at least three full 
months, 
And during all that weary time he has written to me — 
once. 



Lulu Kemble. 279 

*' I feel alarmed, indeed I do, for I heard Brace telling Pa 
That many guiltless men have died by the horrid ' moun- 
tain law,' 



" Surely something must be wrong, or Rob would have 
written ere now; 
He promised every week to write, and he never breaks a 
vow. 

" How happy I should be if I would receive a note to-night, 
More it would be of value to me than all these jewels 
bright. 

"Would I had never seen the gems — that riches had ne'er 
been mine; 
For to-night I might be happier with Rob and love divine. 



" For Love deeper lies than diamonds; is richer than rubies 
rare; 
Is purer far than the milky curls that bind the princess' 
hair. 



" There was never built a wall yet that true love could not 
surmount ; 
In the hardest human trials it has sprung a streaming 
fount. 



" Streams may dry, chasms may yawn, and mighty moun- 
tains crumble low; 
Death may snap the thread of Life, and stop, for aye, the 
wheel of woe; 



280 The Pagan's Poems. 

" Seas may arise, turn into vapors, and witli clouds sliroud 
the sky; 
But True Love ! It is eternal ! it can never, never die ! 

" Whirling spheres may leave their courses, and fixed stars 
may die away; 
Father Sun may let his gentle beams on earth no longer 
stray; 

" Sister Moon may hide her lovely face, and from her orbit 
hie; 
But True Love ! It is eternal ! it can never, never die I 

^'' Love is farther stretched than Orient's circumambient bar; 
Look ye from the farthest planet, there it shineth still 
afar. 

"Mother Earth it doth encompass like unto the milky way; 
It is boundless as the infinite — it will never lose its sway. 

" Love is stronger than the tempest when it wakes creation's 
sleep. 
Hurling on the rocks and reefs the mighty surges of the 
deep; 

"Yet is milder than sunlit morn — the opalescent skies — 
It has buried generations, but it never, never dies! 

" Life's the mightiest of sea shores that before Death's 
deep doth lay; 
Men are sands that lie upon it, they have felt Love's 
wielding sway; 



Lulu Kemble. 281 

'' They have bloomed, faded and withered as a flower before 
the frost, 
'Though they have passed away to dreamless sleep their 
Love was never lost; 

"It has broken bars of iron, it has pierced armors of 
steel. 
Performing wonders such as no human lips could e'er 
reveal; 

" It has given life, has taken life^ made equal low and high, 
It has proven thro' the cycles it is that which ne'er will 
die. 

" 'Tis the amaranth, ne'er dying, that perfumes the uni- 
verse, — 



'Tis the balsam God gave unto man to mitigate his 
curse; 

'"Tis the flower that bloomed in Eden; aye! it blooms in 
Eden still. 
It has blossomed sweet for seons, and for seons ever 
will! 

"There is no earthly treasure that beyond true love can 
reach — 
There is no single religion that doth purer precepts teach. 



" For it teaches that those unions which are purest in this 
life 
Are those where Love divine uniteth two fond mortals — 
man and wife. 
19 



282 The Pagan's Poems. 

*' It has sought me in a station which, the world exalts — 
calls high; 
It has proffered me, from humbler walks, ' the apple of 
my eye;' 



" It has made me scorn those riches which give luxury and 
ease. 
It betrothed me to as manly heart as beats a manly 
breast. 



''Yea, it tells me with its silent tongue that he will come 
to me 
And that I, as wife, shall grace his life, and with him 
happy be." 

"While Lulu was thus soliloquizing Chloris ope'd the 

door, 
Coming in as one the oil upon the troubled sea to pour. 



She held a letter in her hand which caused Lulu's heart 

to throb. 
For she saw by the address the epistle was from Rob. 



With nimble fingers and happy heart the letter she did 

ope, 
With feelings kin to a drowning man's seeing the star of 

hope. 

' Please read the letter, love," she to the fair-haired Chloris 

said, 
Chloris, seating herself beside Lulu, Jackson's letter read: 



Lulu Kemble. 283 

"Deaeest Lulu: Six times I've written, yet I've not heard 
from you — 
Despair has whispered in my ear, 'You have lost your 
lovely Lu!' 

"I cannot believe it! I've banished the tho't from my 
brain, 
And concluded, "tho' ye slay me, I'll love thee," and write 
again. 

" 'Tis only three days till Christmas and then I'll be leaving 
here 
For Iowa to teach Grafton's school for the ensuing 
year. 

"You see my ranching is over, as Lamar his herd has 
sold, 
I got a handsome commission — two hundred dollars in 
gold. 

*'We drove the herd to San Antone'; it was a terrible 
drive ; 
In a battle with the 'rustlers' we lost of our cowboys five; 



"Of our men Gonzales, a Creole, was a "rustler" on the 

sly, 

Campana tho't so and kept on him an ever watchful 
eye. 

"In our band there was an Irishman whose name was 
Finnerty, 
He was as fearless and daring as ever man could be; 



284 The Pagan's Poems. 

"He rode a little in advance when we met the rustler 
pack, 
And Gonzales, the Creole, killed him by shooting him in 

the back; 

" Then Juan Campana, the chief, riding by the Creole's 
side, 
Planted his dirk in Gonzales' bosom — he in an instant 
died. 

" The way the battle opened 'twas diificult to understand 
Which was a friend or foeman, which was cowboy and 
which brigand. 

" Let the poets sing of the free and easy life in the free 
zone — 
That there is the utmost freedom tho' I willingly will 
own; 

" But where the easy part comes in to me is a mystery. 
Unless it be easy dying — from which I would fain be 
free. 

"Let the poets take their standing ground on Fiction's 
lofty mount, — 
Let them serve their readers nectar from Exaggeration's 
fount, — 

" Let them paint their glowing pictures in language pleas- 
ing and strong, — 
Let them come West — I'll warrant you they'll sing a 
different song. 



Lulu Kemble. 285 

" There 's no poetry in being in the saddle for five days, 
Not a whit in sleeping there in some forty different 
ways. 

" This poesy comes tumbling " down with a dull, sickening 
thud," 
When you have the clouds for cover and a mattress of 
the mud. 

"There is money to be made! Of course. But is that all 
of life? 
Nay! To me a higher calling beckons onward to the 
strife. 

" Here, man is a selfish creature, living for himself alone, 
But for me, of nobler vineyardsf let the gates be open 
thrown. 

"Let the civilized barbarian pursue the beaten track 
In search of Fortunatus'' purse till Death, only, drives 
him back. 

"My ambition seeks a higher sphere — beyond the orb of 
Self, 
And the wealth of my desires is not store-houses of pelf. 

" But to summits that are loftier a bright star lures me 
on. 
And beyond, methinks, that brighter realms appear to me 
anon. 

" And my hope, the hope of ages, is that I sometime may 
be. 
By some effort of my own commended to Humanity! 



286 The Pagan's Poems. 

^' Who is richer than the man who has the love of human 
kind? 
Who dies happier than he who leaves the world in tears 
behind? 

" What are golden harps or jeweled crowns to such a man 
as he 
Who proved himself a champion fighting for humanity? 

" Go with me over the world to-day and sound the hearts 
of men, — 
Read those volumes of the Silent Great that verge within 
your ken; 

" In the Vedas, Shasters, Bibles, and Al Korans you will 
see. 
They are the conquerors of the world who serve humanity! 

"Enough; I fear I tire you with my prosy philosophy. 
But ' as the hart pants for the brook,' so my heart yearn- 
eth to be 

" Back again within the garden where meanders Learning's 
brooks ; 
Back again with lovely Lolu, human beings, and my books. 

" By the new year I '11 be lodged at B , within Iowa's 

line; 

By the the way, B 's the burg where lives that protege 

of mine. 

" My protege^ that is the lady I wrote to you about. 
Who so narrowly escaped death when the train caused 
that sad rout. 



Lulu Kemble. 287 

" Now, Lulu dear, please answer this, and do not tarry so 
long; 
Why did you not answer the others; has anything gone 
wrong? 

" If you knew how much of sunshine your pen throws in 
my lone way. 
You, with your accustomed charity, would write me every 
day. 

" Love to you — to friends best wishes, and defiance to my 
foes. 
As my letter is a lengthy one T feel constrained to 
close. 

"But remember, Lu, for you alone my heart shall ever 
throb 
As in the past so in the future, I remain^ yours ever — 

Rob." 

Madeline the room had entered as Chloris the letter read, 
When 't was finished she looked at Lulu^ and sagely shook 
her head: 

"Ah! alas for you, my lovely Lu, 'your cakes are dough,'" 

said she, 
" For Jackson will court that German girl, his protege at 

B . 

"You silly thing, to sit there crying until your eyes are 
red. 
Do you suppose a thought of you ever enters Jackson's 
head? 



The Pagan's Poems. 

" He 's but a man as other men, and this love of his so dear, 
Is like unto a magnet's power, only strong when very 
near. 



" Why he 's an unlearned boor compared to handsome Brace 
Lamar, 
And as far below him as a grain of sand 's below a star. 



"Brace is handsome^ rich, gallant, and good; what more 
could you desire? " 
Then spoke Lu: " The boor — the grain of sand — the one 
that I admire ! " 



And burying her face within her hands she sat as one of 

old. 
Refusing to be comforted by Chloris with hair of gold. 



Madeline sat down beside her^ and her arm around her 

threw, 
Saying in gentler tones, " Come, I was only joking, Lu! 



"Rob is good; a splendid fellow, and he may be rich some 
day. 
I 'm too sorry that Pa's violence has driven him away. 



" But I know he loves you. Lulu, and you in his bosom 
reign, 
And I 'm sure that in a short time he will come to you 
again. 



Lulu Kemble. 289 

" Please, do n't cry, I 'm awful sorry tliat I spoke so meau 
to you; 
Come, clieer up ! for pa is coming. Let me hide your let- 
ter, Lu." 

" What 's the matter now?" said Kemble, as he sat down by 
the grate. 
Cunning Madeline adroitly did the incident relate. 



While she talked he gazed steadfastly at the embers in 

the grate; 
His strong frame trembled, while his face livid grew with 

settled hate. 

He looked at Lulu, then broke forth with speech and ges- 
ture wild: 
" Rather than have you marry him I would bury you, my 
child. 

" I had hoped that I could give my children luxury and 
rank; 
But alas! my hopes are shattered by a simple childish 
prank! 

*' And she whom I have cherished vdth the fondest paternal 
care, — 
Loving even more than life itself — now drives me to 
despair. 

*' Oh! must this crushing truth be seen? will this adventurer 
wild — 
This rambling, gambling libertine, be the husband of my 
child? 



290 The Pagan's Poems. 

" Supreme! Oli, tell me truthfully, it is but a cursed spell! 
It will not be! I shall not see her marry this infidel I 

^'Oh! can it be? It is fate's decree that makes me raving- 
wild; 
Oh, must I see him wedded be, and her to my sweetest 
child? 

"Mother Earth mix with my ashes; bear me to chaos again 
Before this cursed atheist steals the idol of my brain! 



" Oh ! despair let loose thy torrents ; let their eddies seethe 
and curl; 
Let them drown my broken spirit before he marries my 
girl. 

" Styx of the world, let thy stream hurl thro' the channel of 
my heart. 
Before my girl, my spotless pearl, forsakes me and dwells 
apart!" 

DeWitt Kemble bowed his head, seemingly overcome with 

grief. 
Lulu, from her breaking hearty wished death would come 

to her relief. 

With an effort she arose, and walking to her father bent, 
She said: "Pa, I'll never marry Rob^ except with your 
consent ! " 



CANTO FIFTH. 



And then I think of one who in her youthfnl beauty died, 
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. 
In the cold moist earth we laid her when the forest cast the leaf. 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief. 

— Bryant. 



It was evening. Snow was falling in myriad fleecy flakes. 
In the corner Chris sat smoking, while Frau Gretchen 
turned the cakes. 



John had fed the sleek, fat horses, and was making down 

their bed; 
Fritz was milking patient Brindle in the straw-roofed 

cattle shed. 



Little Grus and sister Mina filled the great red box with 

wood; 
By the stove a red-cheeked maiden slowly doffed her cloak 

and hood. 



"Mother, let me pour the coffee," said she as she hung 
them up, 

"For I hear the boys a-coming, and they'll want a steam- 
ing cup." 



292 The Pagan's Poems. 

As she spake the gate swings open and its frosty hinges 
twang 
*'Grood night! good night!" it seems calling, till it closes 
with a bang. 

Then around the supper table with its steaming viands 

spread, 
Seats the father and his children while the good wife 

cuts the bread. 

Now Eliese has poured the coffee for her father and the 

boys, 
When suddenly they hear the watchful Caesar make a 

noise. 

On the porch some one is shuffling — now he raps the 

panels thin. 
Then ope's the door and enters to the farmer's' gruff 

"Gomin!" 

To them all he is a stranger, common-sized, well-dressed 

and fair, 
With a round, smooth face so jolly, and a look devoid of 

care. 

Slowly now he doffs his beaver, a broad-rimmed one, 

colored gray, 
Saying, " Stranger, I'm a pilgrim, in the storm I've lost 

way;" 

•"I will pay you for my lodging if you '11 share your roof 
with me; 
Though not a tramp, I am tramping to my destination 
B ." 



Lulu Kemble. 293 

"B ," said Chris, "Vy, yes! Here, Gretchen, took dis 

young man's ofergoat; 
Always room 'round mit my dable, und Shon's bet vill 
held you bote. 

'^Eliese, pour oud him some coffee! Grretchen, pass dose 
sauer-kraut ! 
You bet, stranger, auld Grris Koenig turns a stranger sel- 
dom oud. 

'"' Veil, vat might your name be, stranger, und vat for you 

go mit B^ ?'' 

And old Chris pushed from the table and took Mina on 
his knee. 

"My name's Jackson — Robert Jackson — and I'll teach the 

school at B , 

Finish out the term for Grafton " — "Veil," said Chris, 
" you do n't told me ? 

" Ich been glad me gif you velcome ! koom in mit der oder 
room 
Vile the vimens vash der dishes ve vill smoke. Koom, 
mister, koom." 

By the warm hearth Jackson seated; old Chris handed 

him a pipe, — 
A quaint, old-style, German heir-loom, flowered china 

with gilt stripe. 

Then a pouch of fragrant " Durham " laid he on Rob 

Jackson's knee, 
Jackson felt quite glad he'd wandered from the road that 

led to B . 



294 The Pagan's Poems. 

For awhile both smoked in silence, old Chris seeming 

lost in thought; 
Rob, exploring his surroundings, wondering at his lucky 

lot. 

Now he gazed on Chris intently, thinking of his broken 

speech. 
Smiling at his nose of carmine — waist round which no 

arm could reach. 

Or he looked at little Mina as she clasped her father's 

hand. 
Or shook her golden curls again from out their velvet 

band. 

To Jackson she seemed as gentle as the flow'rs that deck 

the springs, 
So beautiful, sweet and modest — a wee cherub without 

wings. 

Chris and Grretchen, happy couple, had been married 

thirty years, 
Out of seven blooming children only two had sought their 

tears. 

Bart.., the eldest, ran away when he was seventeen years 

old. 
So Rob learned that evening when Chris his family's 

hist'ry told. 

They had never heard of him so the family mourned him 

lost, 
When Chris said " Barty a strange feeling o'er the mind 

of Jackson crossed, 



Lulu Kemble. 295 

And the vision of a "rustler" who had died on Pecos' 

plain 
Like a phantom wierd, fantastic, flitted thro' his wand'ring 

brain. 

And he almost said "J^ve seen him!" but he caught his 

tattling tongue; 
Only mothers know how Rob's words would a mother's 

heart have wrung; 

And listened how blue-eyed Ludwig passed six merry sum- 
mers thro', 

But when autumn leaves were fading, with the leaves he 
faded too. 

Brawny John, a bashful fellow, had gone to the village 

store, 
Fritz, a very imp of mischief, played with August on the 

floor. 

Soon the little fellow tired and crept up the creaking 

stair 
To his bed of downy feathers and was lost in dreamland 

there. 

Now matronly Grretchen enters with her knitting in her 

hands; 
Once again the door swings open and behold! a Venus 

stands! 

Coy Eliese, the eldest daughter, with a wealth of golden 
hair, 

Cheeks that mock the summer roses, naive, eighteen, hand- 
some and fair, 



296 The Pagan's Poems. 

Stood before him in the lamplight, with a pitcher in her 

hand, 
Stepped beside him blushing, smiling, set the pitcher on 

the stand, 

'Cross the floor with step like Juno, again to the kitchen 

goes, 
And returns with empty glasses, into which the cider 

flows. 

All around they bump their glasses, drinking deep the 

health of Rob; 
To old Chris Eliese turns smiling, " Pa, does he not favor 

Bob?^' 

"Ya! he do look shust like Ing'soll, 'cept he don't vas 
hardly bald;" 
And as Fritz stepped in the kitchen, after him his father 
called: 

" Fritz, my boy, bring oop some apples, and der chug of 
vishky stoud, 
TJnd dose keards from off der mantel, we vill haf some 
sevend-oud." 

Then they gathered round the table, joining in a social 

game, 
And the German, farmer's family soon were calling Rob 

by name. 

Rob and Eliese played as partners against Fritz and jovial 

Chris, 
With as fair a partner who would not indulge in sports 

like this? 



Lulu Kemble. 297 

Anon Chris would shake with laughter, that is, when he'd 

won the game. 
And his small steel-gray eyes sparkled brighter than a 

candle's flame. 

"" Hearts are trumps," Rob looks at Eliese as she coyly lifts, 
her cards. 
A dozen thoughts flit through his brain like the rhyming^ 
of the bards. 

Hearts are trumps. Aye! in life's springtime, when the 

buds of Friendship bloom. 
And the richness of their fragrance fills the heart with 

sweet perfume. 

When Love is the monarch reigning in the kingdom of 

the soul. 
And Cupid wins the younglings to his ultimate control. 



When it rules the throngs are silent, like the footsteps of 

the night. 
Fleeing from the sun, which rising, ushers forth the 

morning light. 

Hearts are "passed." Time "makes it Diamonds f now 

frosts begin to fall. 
And where Love divine was cherished Greed hath crept 

and blighted all. 

But its empire, too, is fleeting, for the " Club '^ — token of 
war — 

Steps into Life's strange arena, breaking down the daz- 
zling bars. 

20 



298 The Pagan's Poems. 

Like when " bower cards " in " euchre " oftentimes do lose 

the points; 
So the knight, with love and lucre, wars, and vultures pick 

his joints. 

0, existence ! Why so fickle ? Janus-faced — now storm, 

now shade! 
Love, and Grreed, and War have ruled us, Death now 

"turns" the ruthless Spadel 

This sweeps all stakes. Seek no further ye that doubt a 

future state. 
Here all joy or sorrow endeth; here ends Love and Hope 

and Hate. 



Are wrongs righted? Are prayers answered? Has Sin 

from his covert fled? 
Are these dreams of our blighted? Ask not mortal — 

ask not dead. 



All these crowding, vivid fancies, came before Rob as he 

played. 
And bathed in the smiling sunshine of this petite German 

maid. 

Quite forgotten was fair Lulu as the evening passed away; 
Quite true Madeline's prophecy concerning his " protege." 

Ten o'clock. Chris rose slowly now with Mina in his 

arms. 
Pulling his chair to the snug hearth there his sleeping 

darling warms. 



LvLU Kemble. 299 

Fritz draws off his boots and jacket, mut'ring " Hope the 

lambs won't freeze," 
And steals up the chilly stairway, leaving Jackson and 

Eliese. 

Staid Fran Gretchen quits her knitting, and takes Mina 

to her bed; 
John comes bursting in the kitchen with his awkward 

heavy tread. 

"Veil," said Chris, "ven you bin schleepy, you can go oop 
stairs mit Shon; 
Ve musht get oop in der mornin', deres be blenty vork to 
done." 

Jackson took this hint good natured, and bidding them all 

good night. 
He followed bashful John who walked before and carried 

the light. 

And soon with Morpheus' siren maids, who do nightly 

vigils keep. 
He sought enjoyment, dozed and awoke, sought to, but 

could not sleep. 

He heard the wind whistling through the trees, the swish 

of drifting snow, 
Then croup-like coughs of long duration from some wee 

thing below. 

Finally he thought of Mina, and arose his clothes to don, 
When he heard the stair door open, and the farmer call- 
ing " Shon!" 



300 The Pagan's Poems. 

" Gret oop; Slion! Right avay, quick, my boy, and for der 

doctor gae!^' 
'' T 'm coming, sir! ^' said Jolm^ " coming, sir, right away/' 



How dreadful that command! How it makes the heart 

qualmy and sick, 
To be wakened from sweet sleep, and hear '^ Go for the 

doctor quick!" 

The doctor came and friends drew near, but Death count- 
ed all as naught. 

For croup, the infant's assassin, bore off all that love had 
fraught. 

And when morrow came it showed a form silent in 

Death's repose. 
Whose placid features rivalled the alabaster of the snows. 



In the room where last night Mina joined in reveling and 

mirth. 
To-day a little casket treasured her from the frozen earth. 

And he, who had beloved and cherished her with fond 

paternal care. 
In his bedroom, weeping like a child, was battling with 

despair. 

When 'twas eventide Chris feebly rose and came into the 

room, 
The picture of a broken heart, curtained in agony's 

gloom, 



Lulu Kemble. 301 

And kneeling beside the lifeless form of her whom he 

loved so, 
His heart poured forth, in his mother tongue, the torrent 

of his woe: 



" Lift the pall ! my heart is broken 'neath an overload of 
grief. 
And my eyes receive no token that can give my soul 
relief. 

" I see the hand invisible hath touched my living flower. 
And, Oh, it was not loathe to cull my blossom from its 
bower. 

" Ne'er I thought Death's hand divining, as it sweeps the 
starry scroll. 
E'er could blur that diamond shining as the sunlight of 
my soul. 

" As its brilliant beams inclining to my nature's darkest 
place. 
Was its roughness e'er refining, blotting out each evil 
trace! 

■St 

"Leave me, friends! Oh, Mina, lieben! must my heart 
drink of this woe? 
Has the day-star of my' heaven lost for aye its God-like 
glow? 

" Will its brightness, ever cheering, shed no more its beams 
for me ? 
Burn no more with flame enduring unless in Eternity? 



302 The Pagan's Poems. 

"Will the Unknown grant me — can Fate grant me — 
Death, a joyful boon? 
Bid me! I await Thy mandate: ' Gro before the great 
Triune.' 



" Go before the Triune clasping my beloved Mina's hand, 
And feel her warm fingers clasping mine. Can Thou me 
thus command? 

"Yesternight, I sat so joyful with my darling on my 
knee, 
But to-night, 0, stars of heaven! that look coldly down 
on me, 

" Canst thou, in thy orbits endless, light the pathway where 
her soul 
Journeys guideless, fruitless, friendless, from my broken 
heart's control? 

"Tell me! are thy rays attending her sweet soul beyond 
the gloom? 
Do thy heaven-lit fires, descending, guide her to a dearer 
home? 

" O'er my heart wan Fear is quaking ! What is life or love 
to me? 
Life is but the sad waves breaking — melting in eternity I 

^'' Love has left my heart repining, yearning for a golden 
Thro 't the soul waiteth refining ere flies to realms of 

joy! 



Lulu Kemble. 303 

"" Thou wert Love ! Oh, Mina, liebeii ! and they tell me thou 
art dead! 
Why was Love e'er to me given? or, since given, why 
has 'tiled? 



"Some have said, 'Love is eternal,' that 'it never, never 
dies ! ' 
But alas! I see diurnal some one's Love o'er Lethe hies! 



"If Love had eternal being; if its blossoms never die. 
Why is it that friends constrain me, to give Mina, ' Love, 

Good-bye ? ' 

"Mina! Mina! Love is strong^ but it soon away must 
hie, 
And the loving face which beamed for me must leave my 
ken for aye! 

" But, if Immortality is true, I'll meet thee when I die; 
Good-bye I prison of the soul I loved! Oh, Mina, love! 
Good-bye ! " 

Strong men with sympathizing hearts, cheering him, led 

him away. 
Sitting on the bed by Rob, he sobbed, " Vill you bleese 

mit me sthay? " 

Then drew something from his bosom and laid it in Jack- 
son's hand. 

With convulsive sob he said, "Dot ish lieben Mina's 
pand!" 



304 The Pagan's Poems. 

'Twas the velvet zone from which her curls last night 

she'd shaken free, 
Laughing with childish joy while sitting on her father's 

knee. 



Rob could scarce restrain the tears aroused by Chris's 

stifled sigh 
And words of sorrow, " I dinks she vas too beautiful to 

die!" 

"Say, Mishter Rob! Vill you blease do dis — ve don't vas 
Grristians here — 
But vill you not spoke somedings, pleace, nice aboud mine 
Minadear?" 

" I will do the best I can," said Rob, " since we hold kindred 
views, 
But even tho' we differed widely, I could not your wish 
refuse." 



CANTO SIXTH. 



The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush 
Of music and the voices of the young; 

And life shall pass me in its mantling blush, 

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung. 

But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come 
To meet me. — Willis. 



When morning came, a bleak, cold day, to the churchyard 

thro' the snow, 
Drew a funeral train, with faces depicted deep with 

woe. 

Little Mina was a favorite at every neighbor's hearth, 
And to-day they came to pay to her the last homage on 
earth. 

When they reached the little chapel, white among the 

evergreens. 
Middle-aged, gray-haired, and feeble, lads and lassies in 

their teens 

Sadly drew within and listened to the words which Jack- 
son said. 

As with voice choked with emotion he paid tribute to the 
dead: 



306 The Pagan's Poems. 

"My Friends: 'Tis not our place to upbraid inviolable 
laws, 
And unknown to us are the secrets connected with, this 
cause. 

"We cannot fathom the infinite; before Death we stand 
dumb; 
Tho' we know Death's angel hovers near, we know not 
when he'll come; 

" For over the couch of Love he hovers with his tireless 
wings — 
Into the sweetest blossoms of life he sinks the deadliest 
stings; 

" He breaketh often the golden bowl, the silver cord as 
well. 
And fathoms that Love which deeper is than human 
tongue can tell. 

" Altho' we speak of Death, my friends, yet how little do 
we know 
The mysteries which enshroud it are far deeper than our 
woe? 

"Within its labyrinth we lose again and again our way, 
For beyond the ken of mortal eyes eternal laws hold 
sway. 

" She who lies here in Death's embrace was sweeter than 
the flowers. 
For she was of that fragile race that decks this life of 
ours. 



Lulu Kemble. 307 

"Her wishes were her parent's wills; lier actions their 
desires ; 
Her eyes, which looked but to obey, glowed with eternal 
fires. 

"But alas! Those eyes which sparkled once as brightly as 
the sun, 
Are henceforth glazed f orevermore ; and unknown to this 
sweet one 

"Are they who loved her when Life kissed her, as sun- 
beams kissed the corn. 
And who now stand by with throbbing hearts this broken 
cord to mourn. 

" These marbled cheeks were ruddy once, even as a rose in 
bloom, 
But grim Death, the final arbiter, hath sealed them for 
the tomb. 

" These half-closed ivory lips did once rival the cherries, 
red; 
But the Sphinx of Death hath touched them, now, be- 
hold their tints have fled. 

"Like the sweet notes of the thrush that falls upon the 
traveler's ears, — 
Like the 'lullaby' a mother sung ago in bygone years. 



"Or like honey which the bees extract from sweetest buds 
that bloom, 
Was the sunny mind, the life of her, who sanctifies this 
tomb. 



308 The Pagan's Poems. 

" Her form and face were beautiful, but the beautiful must 
die, 
And it seems that those which sweetest bloom, about the 
soonest die; 



" And those who appear in life to us the sum of all delight, 
Pass, ere their beauty 'gins to wane, unto the dreamless 
night ! 



" Those who have lighted our pathways like unto the lamp 
of life. 
Who loved and cheered us on to loving sacrifice and strife. 



" Those who glittered as a star benign, as sunlight to the 
soul, 
Like the shooting of a comet, passed from us beyond con- 
trol! 



" Eestrain yourselves, sweet friends, for we at last with all 
love must part, — 
There's yet much in life to stem the Alpine torrents of 
the heart. t 



"While one blossom fades another springs, blooming sur- 
passing sweet! 
Altho' Mina's lips be silent, other's songs your ears will 
greet. 

*'I only knew this fragile lily but for a few short hours. 
But then I recognized in it the sweetest of all Love's 
flowers ! 



Lulu Kemble. 309 

" And I can most truthfully reiterate her father's sigh — 
His words of sorrow — ' I thought she was too beautiful 
to die.' 

" I know how vain it is for us to offer our sympathy; 
It cannot assuage the grief of those who weep so bitterly. 

" But, sweet mourners, if a solace doth in human hearts 
accrue, 
All we have flows from our bosoms unstemmed, boundless, 
unto you! 

" Cease thy moaning. Little Mina has not lived her life 

in vain. 
Death to you is lenient still, although it broke Affection's 
chain; 

" But the sunlight of sweet Mina's life remains to you — a 
trust ! 
Becalm! Cheer up! Hear the edict: '.E'ar^/i to ear^/i, a^?6? 

dust to dust! ' 

Soon Mina, who had lived and loved, was laid in earth 

away 
From lips which kissed, from hearts which cherished, and 

would cherish her for aye ! 

And they who had wept briny torrents upon her icy tomb, 
Listened to the consolation Rob extended them at*home. 

" Bear up," said he, " the wealth of worlds could never lure 
her back! 
She can never hear these breaking sobs, these moans, 
.'Alas!' 'Alack!' 



810 The Pagan's Poems. 

'^ I know 't is hard, but do not weep ! she, whom memory- 
endears, 
Altho' torn from life and love, she's also freed from pains 

and tears! " 

*'You bin such a vrend of mine," said Chris, "I nefer vill 
forget ; 
I expose you dont vos got some boarding blase to stop mit 
yet; 

*' Of you dinks, mine vrend, mit in mine house you could 
yourself content, 
I would like for you to stay, und it vould gost you not one 
cent!" 

" Thanks, a thousand," said Rob Jackson, " I would so 
much like to stay, 
But I never once could think of it, unless you will take 
pay." 

Old Chris seized his hand with honest warmth, his broad 
face beaming bright, 
^' You vill stay mit me, mine vrend, und ve vill make dose 
dings all right." 

All the week there reigned within that house a silence 

deep, profound; 
For they who lodged within were by a mutual sorrow 

bound. 

They could not enjoy mirthfulness, nor could they forbear 

the spell; 
They could only miss that sunny face that all had loved 

so well. 



Lulu Kemble. 311 

On the following Monday morning Rob opened tlie vil- 
lage school, 

With some thirty little martyrs of the birch and rattan 
rule. 

On Friday to the Literary Society he went, 

And carried off the honors for logic, wit and argument. 

How he enjoyed the freedom this new professian offered 

him ! 
What splendid opportunities to now cultivate his whim. 

His whim — his hope — that high ambition — to be a man 

of brains ! 
An educated giant, free from poverty's galling chains. 

For Jackson believed that the wise crow, Bushanda, 

truth did tell; 
That crow which had viewed the universe, and knew all 

things so well! 

It told Yishnu's eagle bearer that thro' many pains we 

live. 
But it has been left for Poverty the keenest pangs to give. 

Truthful crow, thought Rob one day^ there is no pang 

like poverty! 
(Truthful crow, we poets think, who seldom do a dollar 

see.) 

" Truthful crow," said Rob, " to-day I will a lesson learn 
from theC; 
And will henceforth build to save my Lu from want, from 
poverty! " 



312 The Pagan's Poems. 

In the evening John a letter brought, and handed it to 

Rob, 
As his eye ran over the address he felt his pulses throb; 



And turning so the inquisitive might not his features 

view, 
He opened and read the letter — of course from lovely Lu. 



^'' My dear Bob : — Your welcome letter came to hand on 
Christmas eve; 
Of the six which you have written, only two did I receive. 



"I believe you've written the letters of which you've just 
told me. 
But that only ttvo have reached me is to me a mystery. 



" Oh, Rob dear, my heart is broken! I must lose thee, lover 
true! 
I must lose thee^ Rob, my darling! but my heart remains 
with you! 

" Do not chide me. Could you know it all, I think you 
would forgive; 
But the fiat has gone forth, and we apart, my king, must 
live ! 



"Pa and ma will never yield, for they grow sterner every 
day; 
Rather than have me marry you they would bury me, they 

say! 



Lulu Kemble. 313. 

"0, liow can I disobey them, and deny their tears and 
prayers ? 
Oh, my love ! my heart is yours, but my 'obedience is 
theirs ! 



" Do not say I do not love you, for I love you more than 
life. 
And the dearest hope I cherish is, that I may be your wife. 



" But it seems the vovrs I made I shall be unable to prove, 
For my parents, you know, Rob, loved me when no one 
one else would love. 



"Madeline your letter read to pa; it almost broke his heart; 
He prayed that grief might slay him ere I should dwell 
from him apart. 

'^ I promised him — a promise that would alone his heart 
content — 
That I would never marry you Rob, except with his con- 
sent ! 

"How can I give you up? Oh, God! the struggle is hard, 
my king! 
The arrow of love has been to us naugKt but a poisoned 
thing. 

"It has poisoned both our lives, our hopes, our aspirations 
high; 
Would to Grod that we had never met, or that we now 
might die! 

21 



314 The Pagan's Poems. 

" But piercing these sombre clouds wliicli drift between us 
as a dream^ 
Like a struggling ray of ligbt, Hope sends to me a tran- 
sient gleam. 



" And tlie barriers between us, wliich now tower to the 
blue, 
Have a tendency to totter — they can he removed hy you ! 



*' You value independence, Rob, but I think there are ex- 
tremes, 
And that you have adopted them, so, at least, to me it 
seems. 

" Be a little more forgiving, and less independent, too, 
For truly they form the barriers which stand between us 
two. 

" You Ve never tried to please my folks, wonder not then at 
this state; 
Your denial of their wishes but intensifies their hate. 



" But; Rob, I feel that pa's consent can he sometime loon hy 
you ! 
Strive to win it., Rob, and leave me not your broken-hearted 

Lu." 



Sweet Eliese, who ever kept on gallant Rob her lovely 

eyes. 
Read the language of his thoughts, their mingled sadness 

and surprise. 



Lulu Kemble. 315 

After lie had sat some time without giving word or sign^ 
Rose, and going to the table poured for him a glass of 
wine. 

*'You are feeling bad," said she, "here, take a sip of wine, 
I'll take interest in your welfare, as you once took in 

miney 

'^As I once took in yours!" said Rob, gazing on her face 

sublime ; 
"Yes!" said she, "you 're not a stranger here, I kneio you 

all the time! " . 



"Thanks to memory," said Rob, "for it the past to pres- 
ent brings. 
In spite of men, or angels, or principalities, or things." 



" Come," and she gently touched his arm, " and a waltz for 
you I'll play; 
I have never touched the organ since you came here New 
Year's day." 



CANTO SEVENTH. 



The days of the nation bear no trace 
Of all the sunshine so far foretold; 
The cannon speaks in the teacher's place, 
The age is weary with work and gold. 
And high hopes wither and memories wane. 
But that brave faith hath not lived in vain. 

—Frances Brovm. 



Seven years have passed away since Jackson taught the 

school at B ; 

Passing through a Lone-Star city, just across the Street 

we see 

Quite an unpretentious sign, but one that will attention 

draw. 
It reads, 

Robert Jackson^ 

Attorney and Counselor at Law. 

In an armchair by the window, Vane, a law student, re- 
clines. 
With a copy of Coke's Institutes, poring o'er its lines. 



So busy he scarce notices the man who opes the door, 
Until he again has closed it and walked half-way 'cross. 
the floor. 



Lulu Kemble. 317 

"Good-day, sir! a pleasant day, sir," said he, with a vacant 
stare ; 
Youthful Blackstone raised his eyes and answered, rising 
from his chair, 

" Very pleasant, yes. Be seated^ pray. Jackson will soon 
be back_, 
For I saw him but a moment since cross o'er the railroad 
track. 



" He is going down to Houston to call out a res:iment^ 
Having made a grand success of it everywhere he went. 



" He 's already raised three regiments, and this will be the 
fourth ; 
He 's the finest orator that ever came here from the 

North!" 

That moment , a small negro boy entered, saying " M'arsa 

Vane! 
Mars' Jackson done gone dis minute to Houston on de 

train, 

" An' he say dat I shall tell yer for to kim down dar to- 
night, 
Fer der telefun chaps say dar's gwine to be a nawful 

fite! 

" De British hab got Galves'un ! Heah's de lates' papah, 
sah! 
Gosh ! Mar'sa Vane, Mar'sa Jackson he hab done gone to 
de wah!" 



318 The Pagan's Poems. 

" We'll see, Cuffee. Order supper. You may go along to- 
night," 
Said Vane, as Cuffee rolled his bright eyes with evident 
light. 

'Twas the year John Bull against United States did war 

declare, 
The result of correspondence on the Panama affair. 



When the North and South, united, felt patriotism's 

glow, 
And sustained the troth we plighted as the " doctrine of 

Monroe." 

As the Panama canal was the centre of the affair, 
John Bull, with his usual shrewdness, massed his well- 
manned frigates there. 

No sooner had war been declared than he swept within 
our ports 

And, as well might be supposed, reduced our few remain- 
ing forts. 

But when he landed and endeavored the country to in- 
vade. 

He encountered foemen that were truly worthy of his 
blade. 

It was at this needful moment that Rob Jackson's elo- 
quence 

Touched the fagot to the slumbering flame and raised 
four regiments. 



Lulu Kemble. 319 

(But let ITS drop this history and return to our romance; 
If youVe never seen this epoch yet perhaps you'll have 
the chance. 



When Democracy resumes sway, just as sure as currents 
flow, 

Foreign potentates will recognize the " Doctrine of Mon- 
roe!") 

After Cuffee withdrew, the stranger began to question 

Vane, 
Giving him the vague impression he desired hist'ry 

plain; 

That if he wanted biography of all beneath the sun. 
And stern Fate would grant him one alone, Roh Jackson's 
tvas the one! 



^'Did you know him?" questioned Vane. "Yes," said the 
stranger, "years ago. 
But I lost all sight of him and have forgotten him, you 
know," 



"Are you kin to him?" Vane queried^ and the stranger 

made reply, 
"Not exactly; but I might have been if — well no matter 

why!" 

"Well," said Vane, "Til tell you all I know: I've known 
Rob now six years, 
Ever since he came to study law with Greneral Villiers; 



320 The Pagan's Poems. 

"He studied eighteen months and was admitted to the 
bar; 
His ability in law affairs is now known near and far. 



"He is now Attorney General^ and was State Senator^ 
But he's going to resign the place to take part in the 
war. 



" And at Houston he will make a plea for volunteers to- 
night. 
If he's in war as in other things, he'll be the de'il to 
fight. 

^' If he'd been but two months older he'd be gov'ner of the 
State, 
He received the nomination, but you see he's too blamed 
straight, 

" For he rose before that convention — I tell you he's the 
stuff — 
And thanked them for the honor, saying, 'J am not old 
enough ! ' 

" Some tho't it was his modesty and that he would keep it 
still, 
But altho' he has a woman's heart he has a lion's will. 



" And when they found he'd told the truth, Old Villiers 
said, ' Well, I'm blowed, 
'E might 'ave kept that to 'imself, nobody would 'ave 
knowed!'" 



Lulu Kemble. 321 

Said the stranger, "If he makes a call for volunteers to- 
night, 

I should like to go down there with you if it will be all 
right." 

"Why, certainly!" replied Yane, "I'd like to have you go 
with me; 
As an old acquaintance I know Rob would you so like to 
see." 

" I suppose an introduction will be necessary quite," 
Said the stranger^ " my name's Kemble." Vane observed 
him turning white. 

"But I think Jackson will know me tho' 'tis years since we 
met last, 
Tho' my knowledge of him tells me that he ne'er forgets 
the past." 

"Kemble?" mused Vane to himself, "I think I've heard 
that name before; 
Let me see — I found a picture once upon the office 
floor. 

" It was the picture of a girl with features austere and 
calm. 
And as Rob took it from me he said, 'She made me ivhat I 
am!'' 

"I think he called her Lulu Kemble; I don't remember 
tho'; 
But I know she was as beautiful as the Northern lilies 
grow. 



322 The Pagan's Poems. 

"But as to tliat — no matter; I'll find out wlio this chap 
is, 
And more about that picture^ when Jackson spots this 
fellow's phiz." 

Thej; with Cuffee, ate their suppers and boarded then the 

Houston train; 
As they neared the city they could hear the martial 

music's strain. 

When they reached it flags were flying, drums were beat- 
ing in the square^ 
And the chivalry of Houston was fastly gathering there. 



On the left side was a platform raised some feet above the 

walk, 
And around this people gathered to hear Rob Jackson 

talk. 

As he stepped forth hushed silence fell and not the slight 

est noise was heard, 
Till he broke the painful silence with his customary 

word: 

" Freemen ! Let me a few words say ! You must know the 
time has come 
When we who live and love must fight for our country 
and our home. 

'"Twas wisely said, 'there's a time to sing, to dance, to 
pray, to smite ! ' 
We've sung our songs, we danced, we prayed, now comes 
the time to fight ! 



Lulu Kemble. 323. 

'' Or will ye tamely yield? No! My better judgment tells 
me No ! 
Then forward_, Sons of Freedom, and by morn well meet 
the foe! 

" Johnny Bull may enslave sepoys, naked rhyots, pariahs, 
But he never can a nation ruled by democratic laws. 

" I'd rather take my chance with Death than with a cursed 
King ! 
I'd rather spill my free-born blood, and have my knell to 
ring, 

" Than to bow my neck to tyranny and have it rule this 
land. 
And know that I against it have not even raised a hand 1 

'■ What is life or love to him who has no country of his 
own? 
Has not Heaven itself lost prestige by boasting of its 
throne ? 

"Rather than a British monarch give us the regime of 
Hell; 
Democracy was born in us, with it only can we dwell ! 

" The volume of British conquests is a history of shame ! 
Her spoilations of the conquered are too infamous to 
name, 

" She 's placed in almost every province a Hastings or a 
Clive! 
'Twere better far to loin and die than be vanquished and 
alive ! 



324 The Pagan's Poems. 

"Examples of English perfidy yet fill tlie common thought; 
Scarce a year ago the Irish with their blood their freedom 
bought; 

" Honest men, heroic men, that were to Ireland a pride, 
Strung their hearts on British sabres or in British bastiles 
died, 

" Leave humility to poets; your property to your wives; 
Your country lies a prey to Britons — defend it with your 
lives ! 

"For who would be a vassal, whom Nature created a 
peer? 
Who die an ignominious death who was not born to 

fear? 

"Even now, within our hearing, British troops ransack a 
town, 
Insulting beauty, plundering and burning our houses 
down; 

" They honor not age, nor virtue, and heed not the infant's 
cries ; 
Behold the blush of shame and ruin burning yon South- 
ern skies! 

"List! You can hear the sullen 'boom' of their artillery 
plain, — 
Is there a man whose heart can hear it without a pang of 
pain? 

" Is there a man so lost to honor, family, country, home. 
That he can coolly turn to his work while British cannon 
boom ? 



Lulu Kemble. 325 

"How tliey call and call us, till the heart bursts, almost, 
with suspense; 
For we can but know against them our brethren hold the 
defense ! 

" Great hearts, high hopes and strong endeavor! your coun- 
try needs you now. 
And you the sacrifice must ofEer, tho' it be Jephtha's 
vow. 

"Parental age and loving wives, stand between you and the 
foe; 
If you love and honor them why strike, in their defense^ 
a blow! 

"If ye have neither parent or wife, your country's love 
attends; 
Greater love hath no man than he who lays down his life 
for friends!" 

He ceased. The plaudits which followed him made all the 

torches flare. 
And shook with the strength of Hercules the stillness o£ 

the air. 

And they who had listened^ obeying no word, command or 

sign 
But rolling drums and squeaking fifes, fell into battle's 

line. 

Vane and Kemble pressing through the crowd toward 

where they last saw Rob, 
Found a line of circumvallation presented by the mob. 



326 The Pagan's Poems. 

In the midst of wliicli they saw him standing on the plat- 
form's plank^ 

The governor pinning on him the emblem of a colonel's 
rank. 

Jackson now pressed through the crowd, and it so hap- 
pened that he drew 

Toward the spot his friends had taken to obtain of him a 
view. 

As he met them he reached out his hand, with a cheery 

laugh to Vane, 
Saying: "Farewell, friend and brother, till I meet with 

you again. 

■" You may run the office. Vane, and to the courts deal out 
the law. 
For I, as Ebony Cuff would say, ' had done and jined de 
wah!'" 

[."An' may I go wid yer," said Cuff, " Marsa Vane can tend 

yo' team? " 
"Yes," said Rob, who smiled to see the light of joy on 
Cuff's face beam. 

""Jackson," said Vane, '^here's a friend who came to see you 
ere you go." 
Kemble dropped his eyes upon the ground, his face turned 
pale as snow. 

Jackson looked at him a moment, and then spoke and 
reached his hand. 
"I the past have buried, Kemble; let me now friendship 
command." 



Lulu Kemble. 327 

*' So have I, Robert/' said Kemble, " but unworthy now I 
feel; 
I have wronged you deeply, Robert, and for pardon will I 
kneel!" 



"Egad, no!" said Rob, "that fitful dream forever has me 
passed. 
Let us part as we 've now met — friends — for this chance 
may be our last. 



"I've no desire, sir, to go to battle and there be 
Slain, and leave behind me in the world one single enemy. 



" The bugle calls! we part. But know that whate'er our 
path attends, 
Tho' we have been bitter foes for years we part to-day as 
friends. 



" But a moment, DeWitt Kemble, one request I ask of you. 
Where'er, whoever she is, commend me to your daughter 
Lu!" 



" My daughter Lulu," said Kemble, " pines away her sweet 
young life! 
Ah! I have rued it a thousand times that she's not Rob 
Jackson's wife! 



"I've hunted you for these three long years — hunted and 
prayed for you; 
If there be yet love in your heart, come back to my lovely 
Lu!" 



328 The Pagan's Poems. 



" Kemble," said Jackson^ " true love, to me^ is that which 
never dies! 
And altho' for seven years I have not set on Lu my eyes, 



" Yet my love for her is still the same, eternal, strong, and 
true. 
Farewell, Kemble ! I must go. Commend me to my lovely 
Lu!" 



CANTO EIGHTH. 



And there was mounting In hot haste ; the steed, 

The mustering squadron and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forth with impetuous speed, 

And swiftly forming in the ranks or war; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 

And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Koused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 

While thronged the citizen with terror dumb. 

— Byron. 



Wlien the morning broke with mellow light, its bright, 

transcendent sheen, 
Piercing through the forest shades, beheld a fierce and 

warlike scene. 

Men of every class and calling stalked impatient here and 

there; 
Patriots fired by country-love, ambition and despair. 



There were men who only go to war because their neigh- 
bors go; 

There were men who feel at heart alone ambition's fervid 
glow; 

There were men — heroic men — who''d willingly lay down 
their lives 

To defend their earthly Heavens and Grods — their fire- 
sides and wives. 

22 



330 The Pagan's Poems. 

There were some who fell in rank as mere excitement's 

consequence, 
Or had listened, with boiling blood, to some speaker's 

eloquence. 

There were men to whom vain glory seemed the monarch 

of the sky^ 
Who'd plant a shrub in Memory's realm that should 

never, never die. 



Here a man who yesterday worked out a fine upon the 

street 
Stood beside a bank cashier beneath the orange blossoms 

sweet. 



There a gambler and a clergyman were standing side by 

side. 
Not the first time in the world's history that vice and 

virtue vied. 

Here a carrier of bricks by a Don Senor stood beside, 
A striking illustration of where Poverty rivals Pride. 



There were lovers and haters of men — of high and low 
degree. 

But the same flame lit every bosom — " Country and Lib- 
erty!" 

Country and Liberty ! Words that warmed Man's heart 

thro' every age. 
Giving the history of the world full many a glowing 

page; 



Lulu Kemble. 331 

Words tliat implant the noblest thoughts — dividing the 

men from beasts; 
Words that have the kingcraft fraught, and have broken 

the charms of priests. 

Country is Liberty's dowry, and they who would win her 

hand 
Must be of the great, strong-hearted race, and make a 

strong demand. 

For Liberty is a maiden coy, who must be wooed ere 

won; 
Aye, men must go down thro' blood to death — rush on 

the leveled gun! 

They must not quail where wielded sabres are smeared 

with blood and hair; 
Fate issued a stern decree: "The brave alone deserve the 

fair." 

She seems not to care for her ownself, even if Death 

attends : 
She knows in her heart the noblest men lay down their 

lives for friends! 

These were the thoughts of those brave, strong men, who 

walked with anxious pace, 
Half wishing for the conflict when their foes they'd meet 

face to face. 



Loud the bugles ring! the war-drums roll! the fife's soft 

notes fall sweet, 
And earth trembles 'neath the ironed hoof and the tread 

of martial feet, 



332 The Pagan's Poems. 

For just bursting into sight, away across tlie prairie 

green, 
The red-coated British soldiery comes bursting on the 

scene. 

The strained eyes of the militia for a moment on them 

dwell, 
Then arose, strong and lustily, a loud defiant yell. 

Ere it dies, the Britons' voices echo it back to the ear, 
Setting teeth and clinching hands, paling cheeks, tho' not 
with fear. 

There 's a momentary silence, there 's a momentary pause, 
Then a gunner in the Yankee ranks a tightened lock- 
string draws. 

"5oom.'" And the grim cannon belches forth the grape 
and canister, 
And the mighty moving armies into noisy conflict stir. 

And scenes of dire and awful carnage upon the vision 

break. 
While the very earth and heavens with the thrilling 

tumult quake. 

Darker grows the cloud of battle; louder still the clash of 

steel; 
Never do the banners falter only when the bearers reel. 

In the smoke and blaze the gunners stand reeking with 

sweat and grime. 
Pictures of stern sublimity — if terror can be sublime. 



Lulu Kemble. 333 

In the solid lines the infantry, baptized in leaden rain, 
Charge with bayonets — fall back — load and fire — and 
charge again. 

After hours of fiercest fighting slowly back the British 

fell, 
And above the din of conflict rings the Yank's exultant 

yell. 

But suddenly the British halt and their slogan echoes 

back 
A cry that almost blanched the cheeks powder smoke had 

painted black. 

A lull ensues. Upon their ears bursts the rattle of the 

drum. 
And from the timber on the left British reinforcements 

come. 

As the surges of the ocean rush upon the rock-bound 

shore. 
They sweep down in wild confusion on Rob Jackson's 

motley corps. 

Colonel Rob is everywhere, with hand to help and voice 

to cheer; 
Where the red streams flow the fastest he is fighting 

without fear. 

Men around him wilt like prairie grass before the wasting 

flame. 
And dying, turn their eyes to him, fondly uttering his 

name. 



334 The Pagan's Poems. 

He is wounded badly now, but will not leave the battle- 
field, 
'' Boys, lift me on my horse," says he, " I would rather die 
than yield!" 

S'death ! how they fought ! The British chief at last 

drew off his men. 
And vistas of the battle-field sweep before our sickened 

ken. 

Tender hands care for the wounded — tender hands bury 

the dead; 
On the graves of fallen heroes tears of sorrow deep are 

shed. 

For three days the trains run steady bearing to Houston 

the maimed. 
And the glad news of the victory thro'out the world is 

famed. 

But he whose name is spoken wherever the tidings are 

sent. 
Touches the border-land of Death within a hospital tent. 



There he lies listless, unconscious, his bare bosom heaving 

low, 
His face, where powder has not burned, gleaming with a 

hectic glow. 

His clothes are torn, his sabre broken, his hair matted 

with gore, 
His head, his arm, his shoulder, wrapped in the bandages 

of war. 



Lulu Kemble. 335 

In the tent a quietness reigns, and as the morning twilight 

steals^ 
By the lowly couch a woman, deep veiled, watches him 

and kneels. 

Kneels beside him with her veiled face buried in her tiny 

hands, 
Ne'er noticing the surgeon till he, speaking, beside her 

stands, 

''Ahem! The worst is over; he made a change for good 
last night; 
If we can but keep him quiet, I think he '11 pull through 
all right.'' 

As the doctor left, the woman kissed the wounded soldier's 

brow. 
And sighed, " They have parted us, my king, but I am 

with you now. 

"If Death conquers you he'll break my heart; aye, tear it 
from my breast, 
Then will we meet to never part in the kingdom of the 
blest. 

" Life is short, but Fate is kind, and Love eternal has its 
fruits. 
The citadel of joy is reached most times by devious routes. 



" If supreme delight should come again, what treasure could 
he bring, 
That could please me more than now to know, you '11 live 
for we, my king? 



336 The Pagan's Poems. 

"Yours is tlie face which I saw last, years ago, one Sunday 
morn — 
Ah ! I must wait till quiet rest fills this form with strength 
new born ! " 

She arose and stepped without, her noble work to carry 

on. 
She was of that angel legion that in peace to war have 

gone. 

She was of that band of seraphs that have flitted to the 

bed 
Of the soldier, wan and dying' and have eased his fevered 

head. 



A month has passed, and Colonel Jackson is on his feet 

again. 
And on another field of battle is urging on his men. 

War again is making havoc; Death is reveling in sport; 
And a line of living valor closes in the Briton's fort. 



'Tis a mystery that tyranny such heroes can produce; 
That godlike intellect and courage will pander to abuse; 

That man, endowed with such courage and wisdom as 

Britons are. 
Will, in defense of tyranny, throw away their lives in war. 

In a rude built fort such heroes stood^ facing an equal foe, 
Where the very air seemed blazing with battle's fiery 
glow; 



Lulu Kemble. 337 

Where men lay in lieaps^ mangled and slain, with eyes 

forever sealed, 
Unconscious of the living's fate when murderous cannon 

pealed. 

But at last they died! They would not yield. Honor 

such bravery! 
Honor them! tho' they went down to death defending 

slavery. 

Honor these heroes' slayers ! They fought for Liberty and 
died! 

A thousand died! A thousand lived to maintain the na- 
tion's pride, 

'Mong the living still was Rob, who walking o'er the bat- 
tle's plain, 

Paused before a small intrenchment where fell thickest 
leaden rain. 

As he passed, a soldier prone, seared and gashed with many 

a scar. 
Said "My God! lift me Rob Jackson. Know ye, I am 

Brace Lamar! 

" Lift me, comrade, I am dying ! Let me clasp again your 
hands; 
Thro' the gloom my soul is flying! swiftly ebbs my life- 
time's sands. 

*' Tho' my life-blood slowly trickles like the rain-drops from 
the eaves. 
Long, too long, the stream has rippled; how it stains these 
withered leaves. 



338 The Pagan's Poems. 

"Comrade, if you can, forgive me for the wrongs I've 
heaped on you! 
Were another lifetime given me that I might these wrongs, 
undo. 

" My past life has been a midnight reeking foul with bitter 
wrong. 
Tell me^ will the coming daylight make my spirit bright, 
and strong? 

" Had I lived thro' Past divinely now 'fore Death I would 
not blench. 
But would meet him cool, sublimely, here within the fort-^ 
ress trench! 

" Tell me, comrade, ere I leave thee, that the past is all 
forgot ! 
That those things I did to grieve thee from thy memory's, 
book you'll blot! 

"We, in private life, were foemen, I unworthy of your 
your steel; 
Let us part as brother yeomen, we were such on battle's, 
field! 

"I am dying, Jackson, dying! You will leave me at life's 
end, 
Like Voltaire to his servant sighing: ''Farewell^ my faith- 
ful friend.'' 

" Would that I were even worthy of the sneers that Vol- 
taire won! 
I might feel that in existence I one worthy deed had done. 



Lulu Kemble. 339 

"Let the poet say I'm dying for my country and its flag; 
But the truth there's no denying, what care I for yonder 
rag? 

" Five long years I loved and cherished Lulu Kemble more 
than life, 
And I left no stone unturned that might win her to me as 
wife. 

"Bu-t she loved you, Jackson, more than me, and never 
would consent, 
But you will now know how glad I was when you to 
Texas went. 

" I received the letters you wrote her, she never got but 
three — 
Oh, I have wronged you deeply, Jackson, that Lulu might 
love me. 



" I laid my plans with utmost care, I told her you had writ- 
ten me 
You were going to be married to your protege at B . 



" Then she wrote a long, long letter, but that letter ne'er 
reached you, — 
I knew it was this single card that would win me lovely 
Lu! 

" Then I pressed my suit again; she said that her love dwelt 
apart, 
But that I might have her hand if I 'd take it without the 
heart. 



340 The Pagan's Poems. 

"I accepted the condition, and we would liave married been, 
But somehow her father found that I, too, was a ' child of 
sin.' 

" He heard that you were rich and great, and knew Lulu 
loved you still, 
And protested 'gainst my wishes with his usual iron will. 



*' He left one day, no one but Lu knew whither he had 
gone. 
And Lu sent me back one day the ring I'd placed her hand 
upon. 

^' For her father came back and told her that he had seen 
you here. 
And then, Rob, there hied away from me all that had 
made life dear.* 

*' You were wounded in the battle, it was her that nursed 
you thro'. 
She is yours now; she is mine no more! Fareivell^ my 
lovely Lu ! 

'"''Farewell!''' The dying lips were silent, the breath came 
hard and fast. 
And like a tired sphere unmounted, he to the Unknown 
passed. 

Then a hand as soft as eider-down on Jackson's shoulder 

fell, 
And he, turning, saw the nurse who had attended him till 

well. 



Lulu Kemble. 341 

For the first time from lier hidden face the heavy veil she 
drew, 

There stood she whose love had ruled his life — his long- 
lost, Lovely Lu ! 



The dying story of Brace Lamar had been, too, heard by 
her, 

But with forgiveness they buried him, and they his mourn- 
er's were. 



CANTO NINTH. 



O change thy thought that I may change my mind; 

Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? 
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, 
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove. 
Make thee another self for love of me. 
That beauty still may live in thine and thee. 

—Shakespeare. 



Ae fond kiss and then we sever, 
Ae fond kiss and then forever. 

— Burns. 



A year lias passed. The war is o'er, and civilian life 

again 
Pinds tlie soldier busily employed with hammer, plow or 

pen. 

Where once the din of conflict jarred, where armies tried 

their powers. 
The earth is clothed "with smiling fields or decked with 

fragrant flowers. 

The school-boy of B , as home he comes, this strange 

announcement brings: 
■"Jackson, the Governor of Texas, is visiting Oris King's! " 

The citizens gather in groups at the corners of the 

street. 
For Dame Rumor thro' the village passes with flying 

feet. 



Lulu Kemble. 343 

And the tongue and lips of gossips are burdened with 
ram or rife: 
*' Rob Jackson came to town to-day to make Eliese King 
his wife!" 

"Have you heard the news? The Governor of Texas 
stopped with King, 
And I'll bet my life, before a week the wedding bells will 
ring." 

"Do you remember Rob Jackson, who taught the school 
here years ago? 
Well; I've heard it from the lips of some I feel assured 
do know, 

"That he has come on business here — left the gay world's 
giddy whirl 
For a few weeks' recreation, and to marry Oris King's 
girl! " 



Jackson had quietly left the town and walked out to 

King's farm, 
In mystic dread, as tho' ,some Circe had thrown o'er him 

her charm. 

He reached it, but with some hesitation he faltered at the 
gate; 
"1 would to heaven!" he muttered low, "her love were 
even hate!" 

As he neared the house he passed a bower beneath the 
% maple trees, 

And in a hammock, half dozing o'er a letter saw — Eliese. 



344 The Pagan's Poems. 

'Twas a model for the sculptor wishing symmetry and 

grace, 
For the beauty of her form rivaled the beauty of her 

face. 

'Twas a picture! But no artist could blend colors half 

so well 
As those checkered tints of sun and shade that o'er her 

idly fell. 

As he gazed he felt his heart with many deep pulsations 

throb. 
He spake. She started up, looked at him, then fainted, 

gasping — "JSo5.'" 

He caught her in his manly arms and her to his bosom 

pressed; 
Light the load his arms upheld, heavy the heart within 

his breast. 

He tasted the sweetness of her lips, then kissed her pallid 

cheek, 
And spake in her ear over again, "Speak to me, Eliese! 

Speak!" 

She opened her eyes, looked in his face with look divinely 
glad. 

Then spake to Rob with a voice that seemed to him sub- 
limely sad: 

"You've come at last? Please let me go! we'll sit in the 
hammock there; 
I think Fate must have sent you here as an answer to my 
prayer! 



Lulu Kemble. 345 

"I prayed last iiiglit — if I must see you — that I might see 
you soon, 

And even coaxed Grus to go to B and look for you at 

noon." 

"If you must see me?" said Rob, "and have you^ too, like 
me, grown cold? 
Has another's love led you astray, like misers after gold?" 



"Have J, like you, grown cold?" she queried, "surely you 
do not mean 

That henceforth you will not love me ? My letter you 
must have seen? 

"Miss Eliese,/ said he, "I love you still, far more than any 
friend. 
But it seems to me that all our love must in sweet friend- 
ship blend. 

" I do not wish Love's golden chain forged into fetters of 
Hate, 
But think it best for us to bow unto the decree of 
Fate!" 

And while she listened he told to her the story of his 

life, 
How Lulu Kemble, long ago, promised him to be his 

wife. 

How schemers had planned; how plans had failed; how 

she to him was true; 
How he was wounded and left for dead but she had nursed 

him thro'. 
23 



346 The Pagan's Poems. 

When lie liad finislied, a happy light stole o'er Eliese's 

face, 
And twining her arms around his neck with one sweet, 

soft embrace. 

Said, " Perhaps you've told your life to Lu in Othello's 

humor fit, 
And she, a Desdemona fair, learned to love you learning 

it. 



"Mr. Jackson, I have ever loved — and ever will love — 
you, 
But my love has never been as deep as that she holds for 
you. 

"And altho' I still desire your esteen and friendship true, 
I could never hope to fill the place held by your ' Lovely 
Lu!' 

" But 'tis needless that in anger we should drift apart to- 
day. 
Or that we should pluck the flowers and plant thistles by 
the way; 

" Nor need we be as passing foes, like the eagle and the 
dove. 
Or let friendship fall below the level of Platonic love. 



"I, too, have a story. Listen! I will tell it to you now: 
Just before I saw your handsome face another had my 
vow; 



Lulu Kemble. 347 

"He was my ' first love ' — first love is deep — you still do 
feel its spell — 
And altlio' I tliouglit I loved ijou most, I love liim full as 
well." 

Tlius she talked on, telling liim how hard it was for her 

to say 
She " was another's," when they parted eight years ago 

to-day. 

The man who'd won her heart had gone to Australia 

years ago. 
He was coming back to claim her now — the letter told 
her so. 



"I read it twenty times," she said, "in memory fresh to 
keep; 
'Tis the one 1 hold, and did hold when you found me here 
asleep. 

" Let us go into the house, since we are now Platonic friends, 
And henceforth, with purest friendship, for our false love 
make amends." 

Rob seized her hand, and pressing it to his lips, whispered 

"Amen!" 
And thought to himself what misery, thro' error, might 

have been! 

At King's house Rob Jackson lingered the remainder of 

the week. 
Until a noble fellow came and kissed sweet Eliese's cheek. 



348 The Pagan's Poems. 

" She is happy, now," he mused, " and may she henceforth 
happy be! 
Farewell ! ideal of second love, my heart, at last, is free ! 



" May Love, the conqueror of the world, bring solace to 
your heart. 
And fill Life's bitterest cup with bliss ! Farewell, sweet 
one! We part! 



" And ah ! my Lovely Lu, for us the entrancing day appears, 
When our fond hope will be realized after these many 



years 



" Foi time has strengthened that deep-laid love from which 
all joys accrue; 
After the stormy day of life we enter Love's haven, Lu!" 



CANTO TENTH. 



O lady! there he many things 

That seem right fair, below, above, 
But sure not one among them all 
Is half as sweet as Love : 
Let us not pay our vows alone, 
But join two altars both in one. 

—Rolmes. 



The ruddy sun is slowly sinking behind the western bars, 
Giving a luster to the soft entrancing splendor of the 
stars. 



The staid whip-poor-wills are wheeling in great circles 
o'er the lea; 

While the noisy choir of frogs send from their realm dis- 
cordant glee. 

From the maple trees the songs of katy-dids fall on the 

ear; 
From the dewy grass the cricket's timid chirp arises clear. 



In a rustic trellised bower, hidden most by ivy sprays. 
Sits a gentleman and lady talking over by-gone days. 



350 The Pagan's Poems. 

"Years have passed," said lie, "since last we met within 
this ivy bower, 
When your father and his mastiff burst on us with their 
fell power. 

^'When the pater, as we called him, suddenly upon us 
dashed, 
And a beardless youth of onescore years came nearly being 
thrashed. 

"What a silence came upon us as we stood with bated 
breath, 
'Till a youth went forth to victory, and a dog down to 
death ; 

"Ah, yes! and while I think of it, there is one I've not yet 
seen. 
What 'come of her? where lives she now? I mean Brace's 
cousin Jean." 

" See,'"" said Lulu, pointing, " what to us a tiny spark ap- 
pears, 
Is her kitchen lamplight ; she's been married almost seven 
years. 

" Brace sold out to Howard Chandos — that's the name of 
Jeanie's man — 
He had borrowed Chandos' money, and of course in hi& 
debt ran. 

" Just a month before war was declared, Chandos closed in 
on Bi'ace; 
Brace sold all of his property, including the home place. 



Lulu Nemrie. 351 

^' But come, let iis go in, the atniospliere is damp, 
And I see that in the parlor Madeline has placed the lamp. 

** When you left here, you well know, she was, indeed, a 
heartless elf. 
But the last five years have made her different from her 
former self. 



"All the girls but Claire are married; she, like me, a spins- 
ter is. 
But now," she pressed his hand, " my beloved is mine, and 
I am his." 



'Twas but a day till the wedding bells pealed merry, loud 

and long, 
And DeWitt Kemble's mansion echoed with music and 

with song. 

And he who was the Lone-Star State's colossal pillar and 

pride. 
Was accompanied to his Texan home by an accomplished 

bride. 



L' ENVOI. 

Reader! most that is here is fiction, yet much of it is true. 
And the history of a thousand loves is that of Lovely Lu. 










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